The Pain of Loneliness
by WinterGarden
Summary: After the battle at Hogwarts, George faces a new war that rages on within him. Devastated by the loss of his twin, George finds himself in a world of pain, distrust, and anguish. How can he save himself when he's not sure that he even wants to be saved?
1. Pain

Hi, everyone! I'm new to the site, and this is my first story. I would love to continue it if you think it's worth it! Reviews are greatly appreciated, thanks!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or any of the characters.

Rated T for some violence, swearing, and mature themes. Lots of angst!

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><p>Pain<p>

He turned his head to the side. A sharp pain shot down his spine. Everything hurt. He raised a shaking hand to his head and realized that he was bleeding. The ground he lay on was grimy and cold.

He stared at the familiar cuts on his left arm. It seemed just days ago that he got those cuts. He knew it had to be more than days. Months? Years?

Where was he?

What happened?

It was dark. Pain radiated through his body. His shirt was ripped and wet with blood. His face bruised. His bones broken.

He turned his head to face the ceiling. Water dripped down, echoing in the dark.

He tried to remember, but he couldn't. He opened his mouth to speak, and pain spread throughout his chest. He closed his mouth.

Remember. Try to remember.

But he still couldn't. He only remembered one thing. One person.

In the cold darkness, George Weasley croaked the one word he had refused to say for nearly a year.

"_Fred."_


	2. One Year Earlier

One Year Earlier

The First Day

George sat in his bedroom alone. It was raining outside. He sat upright on his bed and stared at the empty cot next to him. He hadn't moved in an hour. In fact, he hadn't moved the entire. His family had come to knock on his door, to see if he was all right. He told them, "I'm fine."

But he wasn't. He just sat, staring, at where his twin used to lie. Just yesterday, he was sitting on his bed laughing with Fred. But not today.

"George?" Ginny's small voice sounded on the other side of the door. "George, dinner is ready. Harry and Hermione are here, too. They want to see you. They haven't seen you since yesterday."

George said nothing.

"George, listen. We need to see you. Yesterday…it was bad for all of us. Maybe some company will help."

George opened his mouth, but closed it again when a lump rose in his throat. Could he not even speak any more? Ginny paused.

"George, come down to dinner." Ginny's voice was suddenly strong. "We'll see you in five minutes. If you don't come down, I'm sending Mum up." Ginny paused. "I'm sorry," She whispered as an afterthought, "but you have to do this."

With those words, George heard Ginny's footsteps fading. He took a deep breath, stood up, and opened his door for the first time since Fred died.

When George arrived downstairs, the crowd seemed to silence. Anger suddenly pulsed through George.

"What?" He said defensively. Molly's eyes widened.

"Come eat dinner, George," She said after an awkward pause. George glared at his family before walking over to the counter. The silence was overwhelming. So much needed to be said. It hung in the air, suffocating the family. George glanced at Harry, who stared down at his plate. Hermione, whose eyes were already swimming with tears. He couldn't even bare to look at the rest of his family.

He sat down with his family. The quiet. The tension. George knew he should have stayed in his room.

"Georgie…" Percy's voice shot through the silence like a bullet. The word pierced George. He felt his chest swell, the blood rush to his face. Suddenly, George was on his feet.

"DON'T call me that! DON'T YOU DARE call me that!" George was shouting. He didn't even know what was happening. Just a moment ago he couldn't bring himself to say one word, and now he was screaming. He heard Hermione let out a small shriek. "You KNOW who called me that, and you have NO RIGHT to do that. Don't think that you can REPLACE HIM!"

"G—George, I'm not—trying to…" Percy stuttered. George caught his mother's eye, and saw that she was crying. George turned on his heel to head back upstairs before Ginny stood up strongly.

"George." Her voice was cold. "We haven't seen you all day. You are going to sit here and eat dinner with us." George stayed with his back turned to the Weasleys, but did not move.

"George." Ginny's voice again, harsh but afraid. "Please." She added. George clenched his jaw, yanked his chair out, and sat down again.

The family was silent once more. Percy stared at George, red with anger and confusion. Hermione and Mrs. Weasley looked at each other, sympathizing in one another's tears. Harry just sat looking at his plate, shoulders slumped.

"I'm just saying, George…" Percy began.

"Perce. Just stop it." Ginny cut him off harshly. George glared at his brother. Another silence.

"Harry, have you heard? Neville was featured in the paper today," Ginny said brightly after a few minutes. Harry looked at her and smiled slightly.

"I know, I read it." He nodded. Ginny turned to George.

"You should read it, George. It mentions Dumbledore's Army quite a bit." George didn't even respond. He heard Ginny let out the breath she had been holding in, waiting for some sort of acknowledgement.

Quiet.

A sudden slam on the table.

"Okay, I have to say this."

"Percy…" This time it was Arthur who had warned his son.

"No, let me say this! George," Percy said, looking his brother in the eye, "I know. It's hard. But not just for you, okay? For all of us!"

"You have no idea," George said quietly.

"He was my brother too, wasn't he? And Ginny's, Ron's, Bill's, and Charlie's! He was a son, he was a best friend! You're not the only one going through this!"

"He wasn't your twin, all right?" George spat. "You have no idea…"

"Stop _saying_ that!" Percy shouted. "I was the one who saw him die, wasn't I? I was the one who was there!" But Percy didn't get to speak any more; George was on his feet.

"YOU THINK I DIDN'T WANT TO BE THERE? YOU THINK I WAS HAPPY THAT I WASN'T WITH HIM FOR HIS LAST MOMENTS?" George shouted. "I would have given ANYTHING to be with him then! I could have made him laugh! I could have saved him! Sure, you have to remember what it was like. But I imagine what it was like. And I imagine so many different things, Percy, I do. I see him dying in so many ways. I imagine a different way every minute. I wonder if there was pain, or fear, or anything that I could have helped him through!"

The family was afraid. Ron clutched Hermione's hand. Harry bit his lip, as though trying not to cry.

"The point is, I SHOULD HAVE BEEN THERE. He's my twin and my best friend, and I should have been there for him. Anything's better than what I imagine him going through. ANYTHING."

"It's not your fault," Molly whispered almost inaudibly.

"I wish that I had died with him!" George screamed, and the cabinet behind him suddenly burst. Plates shattered into a million pieces and skidded across the floor. Hermione screamed and leapt from her seat. Arthur pushed his chair back and pulled out his wand.

George stood for a moment, breathing heavily, furiously wiping tears out of his eyes. And then he turned once more, threw over his chair, and apparated to his room.

He was right.

He never should have left that room.


	3. Hope

_Quick Author's note! Thanks for reading so far, I hope you like it :) Let me know what you do/don't like about it, I'd be glad to hear from you!_

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><p>Hope<p>

_The world had stopped. The battle stopped. Everything stopped._

_ "No."_

_ George had just turned the corner to see a flash of red hair disappear around the next corner._

_ "No."_

_ George began to run. As he ran, he thought he saw Ron fly past him in the opposite direction, legs carrying him as quickly as they could. Hermione followed._

_ "No."_

_ George rounded the corner and let out a deafening scream that silenced the wing of the castle. He didn't stop screaming even as his sister appeared at his side, and then his mother, and then his father, and then the rest of his brothers. He didn't stop screaming even when a flash of green light flew just inches from his ear. He didn't stop screaming when his father put his arms around him, or when Ginny clutched his sleeve. He didn't stop screaming until he ran out of breath and fell to his knees._

_ And then he realized he was crying. Sobbing. His shoulders shook, tears gushed down his face and onto his twin's. He took in a deep, rattling breath and let out another scream; this one cut off by sobs. _

_ This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening. This couldn't be happening._

_ George repeated the words to himself over and over, but nothing changed. His twin was gone. George stood up, refusing to touch Fred. His mother threw herself over Fred's body, sobbing. Charlie and Percy bent down to touch Fred's head. Ginny knelt and held his hand in hers. But George stayed standing. He refused to believe it. He didn't want to touch him. He knew Fred would be cold. Not warm with smiles or laughter, but cold. He just stood there, crying._

_ Moments later, Ron came bursting through the crowd and immediately dropped to his knees, putting a hand on Fred's head. But George stayed where he was._

_ This couldn't be happening._

_ When would he next hear Fred's laugh?_

_ This couldn't be happening._

_ But it was._

_ He was gone._

George woke to the sound of birds chirping. Sunlight streamed through his window. He turned his head to the side and stared for a while at the green leaves blowing in the wind. With a sharp pang, he remembered the night before.

George got up solemnly. Slowly. He put on his clothes, afraid to meet his family. He passed the mirror in the hallway, refusing to look. He paused at the top of the stairs, hearing the chatter of his family.

When they saw George, they all seemed to hold their breath. George took a slow look around the room. His eyes landed on Ginny.

"Ginny, if you still have that article about Dumbledore's Army, I'd be happy to read it." George said quietly. Ginny's face split into a smile.

"I'll be right back," She grinned, and ran past George to her room. George faced the rest of his family.

"I'm sorry," He muttered, staring at his feet. "I'm sorry for what I said. I was upset." His face was red, his eyes glued to the floor. He heard his mother let out a watery sigh.

"It's okay, George," She cried, rushing over to hug her son. George didn't hug her back, but permitted her to enclose him in her embrace. She only stopped when Ginny arrived back at George's side, breathless.

"Here it is," She handed him the paper, smiling. "Take as long as you need."

George opened the paper, attempting to smile, and began to read aloud.

"_Neville Longbottom attributes his success in the battle to his training within Dumbledore's Army, and organization that began two years ago. Amongst this army was Luna Lovegood, Seamus Finnegan, Dean Thomas, Fred and George Weasley…"_

George stopped abruptly. Ginny's eyes widened. George's ears grew red with embarrassment when he realized that the family had stopped eating and were now intently watching him.

"Can I finish it later, Gin?" George asked, handing her back the paper. He couldn't bring himself to look at her.

"Er—yeah—whenever you want," Ginny stuttered. She stood for a moment by his side before heading back to the long wooden table. George cleared his throat.

"What're you guys doing?" He asked. His voice was too high-pitched to be casual, but the family pretended not to notice.

"We're actually, um, planning the funeral." Hermione said after a moment of silence.

"Oh." George felt his chest contract.

"Would you like to—to stay? Or anything you want," Hermione said hurriedly. George backed away quickly.

"No, no. I'll just be up in my room." He rushed, before his throat tightened. With that, George headed back upstairs.

"I don't know how we're going to get through this," He heard his mother say behind him. George paused, just inches away from the mirror.

"We will," Hermione said, "it will just take some time."

"I don't know," Bill said doubtfully. "Losing a twin…and especially those two…and what about their shop? George's career depended on the two of them being together."

"We can always help him out with the shop," Ron suggested helpfully. Bill sighed.

"I just hope he'll be okay."

"Well, there's always hope," Ginny said sadly. That was the last George heard before he closed his door and let the tears fall.


	4. The Funeral

The Funeral

It was here. To be honest, George never believed that the day would come. Fred's funeral. They should have gone together. It would have been a celebration, not something dark and gloomy. It would have been big—their friends and family. Their children and grandchildren.

Not like this. George wasn't supposed to be nineteen-years-old when attending his twin's funeral.

George straightened his tie and headed downstairs. He had done well enough being civil to his family. The days consisted mostly of George sitting at the table with them while they ate. He silently picked at his food. After meals, George would escape to his room. He would read, or play with spells. Most of the time he just stared at the wall. As he walked through the hall on the way to the bathroom, he would hear his family talking.

"He's getting thinner."

"Have you noticed those dark circles under his eyes?"

"He hasn't been angry with us lately…maybe that's a sign of improvement?"

"Or it's a sign that he's just given up."

George didn't care that they were talking about him. Or maybe he did. He just didn't know anymore.

George appeared in the empty kitchen. His family was outside, greeting guests. He looked outside the window to see Seamus Finnegan and Dean Thomas. They were chatting with Harry and Ron. Seamus said something that made the others laugh.

Was it a memory?

Or a new joke? Had they already forgotten about Fred? Had Seamus had the nerve to make a joke?

George bent his head over the sink and washed his hands, suddenly hating the sandy-haired boy. He heard someone coming down the stairs.

"George!" It was Fleur Delacour, Bill's wife. "'Ello, George," She sashayed to where he was standing and wrapped her arms around him.

"How are you?" George asked politely.

"Oh, I'm fine," Fleur said sadly. She put a hand on George's arm.

"And you?"

George paused. No one had asked him that question before.

"Fine." He said shortly. Fleur retracted her hand.

"Have you seen Bill?" Fleur asked, looking around awkwardly. "I cannot find him."

"Outside," George said. Fleur nodded, touched George's wrist again, and disappeared. George turned to watch her leave and saw Angelina Johnson standing by the doorway.

"Hi," She smiled. George felt his stomach turn. He was sick of the tone they all had. The pity in their voices. The sadness in their smiles. He hated it.

"Hi." He muttered.

"Are you coming outside? It's starting soon."

"Yeah, I'm coming."

"Oh. Okay." Angelina paused. "You can sit by me, if you like. Ginny says that they haven't seen much of you these past few days. You haven't been…around."

"Oh, is that right?" George demanded, angry.

"I mean…it's understandable," Angelina hesitated.

"Oh, is it? Good! At least everyone's not expecting me back up on my feet, making jokes again," George spat. "I mean, at least they're not all talking about me behind my back. It's been what, a week since he died? Tell them not to worry; I'll my old self in no time."

"None of us meant it like that, George," Angelina said calmly, but George could see fear in her eyes. He suddenly felt sick. He used to make people laugh. Now he made his mother cry, his friends shriek, and everyone else around him shrink back in fear.

Before Angelina could open her mouth again, Bill appeared at the door.

"George, it's time."

Without another word, George pushed past his brother and Angelina. He couldn't see them, yet he knew the look that they were giving each other behind his back.

George sat down heavily beside Harry. Harry nodded at him, and George couldn't help but notice his eyes were red.

"Everything okay?" He asked before he could stop himself. As much pain as George was in, he felt the need to make everyone else feel better. Harry nodded.

"It's going to sound stupid," Harry said defiantly.

"I don't care." George said, eager that someone else beside him was in pain. "Come off it, Harry, what is it?" George then retracted, feeling ashamed with himself. Did he really take pleasure one of his friend's pain?

"Ron and I had a fight. I don't want to get into it. But I'm leaving after the funeral." Said Harry. George raised his eyebrows.

"That bad?"

"He's just upset. I guess I am too…I just can't handle this. I'm done." Said Harry, shifting in his seat. "I'm just so tired. I want everything to go back to normal. And I'm not talking to Ron again."

George paused. He and Harry sat in a comfortable, understanding silence. George asked no more questions; Harry wouldn't have answered, anyway. George noticed Ron sitting with Hermione across the crowd, also looking upset. Hermione clutched his hand, talking to him softly.

"Please, Ron, he's your best friend…"

"No. Leave it, Hermione."

"Ron, you need him right now…"

"I said, leave it!"

George faced forward. His family was falling apart. Did he do this? Did Fred do this?

Suddenly, everything stopped. George felt sick with himself. How could he possibly think of blaming Fred for this? How dare he bring Fred into this? George bit his lip, wishing he could take the thought back.

The burrow had transformed. It was beautiful. Sunlight streamed through the trees. The garden had bloomed beautifully, framing the crowd in delicate, pastel colors. But all George could see was the coffin. It was made of the most beautiful wood, sleek and dark.

To George, it was disgusting. It didn't matter how dignified it looked. It didn't matter how beautiful the funeral was. Blossoming flowers and a clear sky couldn't erase the fact that George was at his twin's funeral.

"And now," Arthur Weasley continued, "I would like to ask my children to say a few words." George caught his breath as his father looked at him. Luckily, Ginny bravely stood up first. She moved slowly to the front of the crowd. When she got to the podium, she paused slightly, surveying the crowd. She looked down at her hands and began to speak.

"Fred was…something else," Ginny smiled. Everyone laughed quietly and politely. "As everyone knows, he was the funny one. The joker. But not everybody knows what a truly fantastic family member Fred was." Ginny looked up, a bold look in her eyes. George blinked back tears.

"He was comforting. And kind. He had five brothers, and I was his one sister. After living with these guys for so long, I've gotten used to the way guys can be." Ginny smiled. "But Fred was always respectful. He loved me just the same, and sometimes treated me like a princess. He'd deny it, you know, but he did," Ginny laughed. "That's what big brothers do, I suppose. He protected me. And when any of us were sad, Fred knew exactly what to say and when to say it." Ginny paused. "I loved Fred. We all did. I just like to think that now…wherever he is…he's making people laugh."

George could have sworn that she looked at him through her glassy eyes. George felt a pain in his chest, as if his heart was literally cracking. Ginny wiped a tear from her freckled cheek and stepped away from the coffin, rushing back to her mother. Molly put an arm around her. As Ron stood up, George saw him glance quickly at Harry. Harry shook his head and looked down.

"Harry," George said. "You don't want to lose Ron."

"I just need some time," Harry said defensively. But George shook his head.

"You don't always get time, Harry," George said quietly. Harry looked at him through bloodshot eyes. He opened his mouth to apologize, but George stood up quickly.

George said nothing, but walked down the aisle between the chairs set up on the grass. He could feel everyone's eyes on him, but he didn't care. He knew that Ron was watching him from beside the coffin. He felt Angelina's eyes on him. But all he felt was anger.

_Why, Fred?_ He thought as he burst through the kitchen door. _Why can't you be here, making me laugh? I don't want you making anyone else laugh. I want you here. I don't care about any others._ _They don't deserve it. _George started up the stairs.

One step.

_I hate you._

Two steps.

_Freddie, I didn't mean it, I don't hate you._

Three steps.

_No, I really didn't mean it. I promise, I take it back._

Four steps.

_Why'd you have to leave me?_

Five steps.

_I hate it here without you!_

Six steps.

_It should've been me!_

George threw himself into the bathroom and locked the door quickly behind him. Through the small, grimy window he could see everyone. Ron was speaking. Harry was watching, tears flowing down his cheeks. George turned away bitterly. They were lucky. They were best friends, almost brothers. They could spend the rest of their lives still together, happy. And they were ruining it with a stupid fight.

For the first time since the battle, George looked at himself in the mirror. Seeing his reflection, he never felt so alone.

George perched on the bathtub and took out his wand. He took a deep, shaking breath, and lowered his wand to his wrist.

_I hate you_, he thought.

Funny thing was, George didn't even know who he was talking to any more.


	5. Terror

Terror

George took another rattling breath. The tip of his wand skimmed his pale wrist up to his forearm. With a deep breath, George shut his eyes and made the first cut.

_Damn it!_

It hurt more than he imagined. A cry escaped him before he could stop it; blood rushed forward and leaked onto the bathroom floor. After a moment, George regained steadiness. He lowered the wand slowly when a knock on the door woke him like a shotgun.

"George?"

It was Ginny.

"George, is everything okay?"

"It's fine," George called back. He cursed himself for allowing his voice to tremble. He knew that Ginny didn't buy it.

"You sure? I mean, you just got up and left, and we weren't sure if…" She trailed off.

"I'm fine," George repeated, this time a little stronger. He heard Ginny walk away, not bothering with a response. George looked down at his shaking hand, took a breath, and made another cut.

This one hurt even more. George bent forward and bit his knuckles to keep from screaming.

"George!" Another rap on the door. Harry's voice was hoarse.

"I'm okay," George called impatiently, though he knew he didn't sound it.

"George, I'm…I'm going to go get someone."

"Don't!" George cried, "I'm fine! Leave it!" In his frustration, he made another slash. And then another. And another.

_What am I doing?_

George didn't know whether he was shouting or not. He didn't know whether he was sitting or standing. He only knew the pain.

Moments later, Harry appeared at the doorway, Ron close behind him.

George must have been hurt. He must have been crying. He knew by the way Harry fell to his knees, screaming. By the way the color drained out of Ron's freckled face. By the way his mother raced upstairs, bursting into tears.

And then darkness.


	6. St Mungo's

**Just a quick note to all of my readers; thanks so much! I hope you enjoy it so far! Feel free to let me know what you do/don't like about it. Enjoy the chapter!**

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><p>St. Mungo's<p>

George awoke to pain. The same pain. On his arm, in his chest. A headache. Like always.

He turned his head. He was at St. Mungo's. He heard the bustle of witches and wizards outside, rushing to see their own loved ones. He wondered if they were okay.

George closed his eyes, when he heard the whisk of a curtain.

"George," His mother stood at the door beside her husband and Percy. George couldn't help but notice that Percy looked angry; almost defiant.

"Oh, George," Molly scurried over to George's bedside. "George, how does it feel? Are you all right?"

George flinched, remembering what he had done. His arm was bandaged, but he could still feel the cuts burning underneath the binding.

"Molly, let's give him some time. I'm sure he doesn't feel like talking right now," Arthur said doubtfully, gazing at his son with sadness in his kind eyes. "He just needs some time."

Molly pushed George's hair back with her hand.

"We'll be back soon, sweetheart, we'll be right back in case you need to talk," Molly said. There was a trace of desperation in her voice. George could only nod.

He closed his eyes again.

More pain.

"That was really advanced magic…" Hermione's voice, just outside his room.

"I had no idea…" Bill's voice. Quiet with fear.

"What exactly was it? I mean, how did he do that?" Ron, confused.

"He used traces of the Cruciatus Curse."

"Traces?"

"When he made the cuts. They say that every so often now, his arm will seize up. Like it's under the curse. There's nothing they can do to stop it."

"And George knew he was doing this to himself?"

"That's what they say."

A pause.

"Things have really changed, haven't they?"

George couldn't take it. Of course things have changed! Of course things were going to be different! The Cruciatus Curse…George never imagined he would one day be performing it, much less on himself. And he had known he'd done it to himself?

When he was in that bathroom, slicing up his arm, he knew what he was really doing?

Pain. Anger. Fear.

Suddenly, George's arm burned and he cried out. He clenched his hand into a fist, trying to ease the pain.

"It's happening," He heard the nurse call as she rushed to his side.

"What is?" George cried, clutching his arm.

"What you're feeling now is the Cruciatus Curse. Be still, Mr. Weasley, be still for just a moment."

"I can't!" George felt like a child, squirming in pain. "I can't be still!"

"Just sit," The nurse replied. "Relax. It's the only way that it will stop."

George clenched his teeth and did as he was told. Every few seconds he would jerk as his arm burned even redder. After a few moments, the pain stopped. George was breathing heavily.

"What….what was that?" Ron asked, petrified.

"You're going to feel that for a while, George. Until the curse wears off." The nurse, a young African-American woman, stood up. "That was quite a curse you gave yourself."

George couldn't bring himself to meet the eyes of his family. More than anything, he felt embarrassed. He never imagined himself doing this. He was always the funny one. The one who didn't care.

And now he was injuring himself with advanced dark magic.

_Things change, I suppose._

"You'll find it acting up in times of intense anger or any extreme, negative emotion."

"Will it ever stop?" Ron asked.

_I hope it doesn't._

"Eventually, yes."

"Oh. Well, thank goodness for that." Molly sighed, putting a hand on her heart. She attempted a weak smile at George.

"You'll be okay, sweetie."

"Sure."

One word had never broken his mother's heart so much. George could tell by the way she tightened her lips and looked down at her hands on her lap. Perhaps it was the way George had said it; full of anger. Sarcasm. Hopelessness.

"Can I have a second alone, please?" George asked quietly. One by one, his family left the room. First his father, followed by Harry and Ginny. Ron left his mother's side. George couldn't help but notice the distance between Ron and Harry.

Finally, it was Molly's turn. She smoothed her skirt and straightened her fuzzy brown sweater that she had knitted herself. She was stalling.

More than anything, George wanted to apologize. He remembered when, as a child, he and his mum had gotten into a fight. It was over something silly. Molly had forgotten about it and invited George out for ice cream. But he was stubborn. He said no. Molly held out her hand to George, hoping that he would put his pudgy little hand into it. But he didn't.

He and his mum didn't speak for the rest of the night; George just sat in his room, sulking. Fred came up and made him laugh. But for the rest of the night, George felt badly for not apologizing to his mother when he should have.

Fifteen years later, George found himself in the same place. He watched his mother, who loved him so much, leave the room slowly; waiting for George to call her name. When he did, she would turn around eagerly, sit down, hold his hand, and talk to him. They would smile. They would forgive each other.

Things would be one step closer to normal.

But George never called out for her. He just watched her leave.

The curtain whisked open, and then closed. In those moments, George heard the rush of the hospital outside his room. Life was as busy as ever. He glanced to the side at the newspaper lying atop the table next to him. He hadn't picked up a paper in a month.

Suddenly, George remembered. He looked at his arm, which was still covered with a white bandage. Slowly, George reached a hand out to unwrap the bandage. He had just placed a finger tenderly on his arm when his curtain flew back.

"Hello again, Mr. Weasley. How are you feeling?" George peered behind the young nurse and saw his family waiting outside.

"Fine," George replied, shoving his arm back underneath the covers.

"Any more pain?"

George shook his head, still watching his family. There was an empty seat between Harry and Ron. George scoffed. _They don't know how lucky they are to still have each other,_ George thought fiercely, angry at the two for being so ignorant.

"All right," The nurse said doubtfully. "Call me if there's anything I need to know. Oh, and it looks like you have another visitor," She smiled brightly, oblivious. George held his breath, but when she turned around, Lee Jordan appeared.

"Hiya, George," He chirped. He was trying to make George smile.

"Hey, Lee," George nodded. Lee took an eager step towards him.

"Your family let me know you were here. I wasn't able to catch you before the funeral, so…" Lee paused. "If you don't want to talk…I understand."

"He never does seem in the mood to talk," Percy suddenly appeared behind Lee. George rolled his eyes.

"I seem to remember you telling us to 'shut up and shove off,'" George sneered. "And now you want me to talk? Make up your mind, Percy. I'm too tired for this."

"Mum said that I should pay you a visit, so here I am. If you want me to leave, fine."

"Percy!" Ginny gasped, appearing at the curtain.

George was suffocating. The room spun.

"Please," he begged. No one seemed to hear him.

"Why don't you just leave?" Ginny demanded, fire blazing in her eyes. "No one needs you here. Certainly not George."

"Ginny," George choked. He felt the walls closing in on him.

"Fine by me. I'll be going."

"I guess I'll be on my way too…" Lee paused. "George, are you sure…"

"Stop! Please!" George sprang up from his bed. He grabbed the clothes sitting on the table next to him.

"I don't need any of you here! I just want to be by myself! So stop worrying, stop talking to me, stop trying to make me feel better!"

"George…" Ginny's eyes were glassy. George burst through the curtain into the lobby. His family was on their feet, but George didn't care. He pushed through them to the floor's bathroom, shut the door tightly, and locked it for the second time that day. He pulled on the clothes with such force that his t-shirt ripped.

George bent over the sink, breathing heavily. He turned his head slightly, away from the mirror. He caught a glimpse of his bandage and began to fiercely unwrap it, tearing it with his nails. As he got closer to his arm, fear rose in his throat. One tear. Two tears. Three tears.

When the bandage floated to his feet, George let out an immediate cry of agony, fell to his knees, and disapparated.

The word still burned red-hot, searing like fire on his arm;

_Fred._


	7. In Between Worlds

**Sorry, this one is a bit short. It may be a few days before I update, so I just wanted to get this one up there. Enjoy!**

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><p>In-Between Worlds<p>

George never knew he could feel like this.

Pain. Everywhere.

His arm, his head, his chest.

His heart.

He was falling,

Fast.

Where was he going?

What will tomorrow be like, or the next day?

Will it ever get any better?

George hated uncertainty.

With Fred, everything was certain.

The smiles.

The laughs.

And now, everything was falling apart. The Burrow was nothing but a broken family.

And the worst part of it was that George didn't care anymore.

He just wanted to fall, away from the world, away from sympathetic friends and family who gave him sad smiles.

He didn't care whether he lived or died anymore.

_Don't say that,_ a voice in the back of his head said.

George felt his stomach turn as he hurtled through the air, the way it always did whenever he apparated. Usually Fred was by his side.

When Fred apparated alongside him, it didn't seem to hurt so much.

And then George landed.


	8. A New Beginning

A New Beginning

George hit the ground hard. His back ached. He looked around.

The shop.

He had taken himself to the shop.

_Why, George, why? Why here?_

George stood up slowly. He wasn't ready for this. He dared not look at his arm, still burning with his brother's name. He wiped his sweating hands on his t-shirt and shoved his wand into the pocket of his jeans. He began to walk.

The shop was dead. There was no other word for it. The whimsical products grinned down at George, but the shop was deathly silent. It seemed like just yesterday he had stood with Fred, inspecting the place.

"_What do you think, Georgie? I think it's perfect."_

"_I dunno, Fred. Maybe we should have another look around. This is a big deal for such a quick decision."_

"_Come off it, George! Where will we find another place like this? It's at a prime location in Diagon Alley, it's massive, and it's got a lot of prospect. I say we go for it."_

"_You always say that."_

"_**We**__ always say that."_

_A pause._

"_You're right, Fred. It's perfect."_

"_I knew it!"_

"_Let's draw up the papers. Let's get to work!"_

"_Georgie, you're right."_

"_About what?"_

"_This is a big deal. It's really happening for us, isn't it?"_

"_It really is."_

George remembered the way they gazed up the large spiraling staircase. The way they chased each other to the top floor, collapsing with laughter. They filled the wide open space with ideas and dreams for their future together.

And now the shop seemed much too small. George felt trapped in a memory. Nothing but a memory. He walked to the first step of the spiraling staircase. And then another step. He surveyed the shop below his feet and felt his throat close. He bit his lip, refusing to let himself do this. But it was too much.

"_Wait until we tell Lee."_

"_And Angelina!"_

"_And Percy. Can you imagine the look on his face when he sees this?"_

"_But not yet, okay? Let's just keep this between us."_

"_Right. For now, it's all ours."_

George sank to his knees, clutching the cold, unfeeling metal bars. He rested his head on the railing, and soon his back was heaving with sobs. He didn't try to stifle his cries or wipe the tears. He hadn't cried like this since the night of the battle.

He would never have another conversation with Fred in this shop again.

The Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes no longer belonged to two comic best friends. It belonged to one hollow, terrified, nineteen-year-old boy.

**Bang.**

The sound of metal crashing to the floor. George stood up quickly, whipping around.

"Who's there?" He called out. His voice was trembling. George wiped his face with his hands and took a deep breath. "Who's there?" He called again, his voice stronger. No one answered.

George slowly descended the staircase, alarmed. When he reached the bottom, he saw trays of Puking Pasties scattered along the ground.

**Crash.**

This one came from upstairs.

"Who is it?" George called angrily. "Get out of my shop!"

"Hey," A hoarse voice whispered into George's ear. George jumped and whipped around, fists out.

"Relax, kid, I'm not going to hurt you." It was a man, about forty years old. He had dark, cloudy eyes and a long, red scar running from his eye to his mouth. He wore a long black robe and towered well over George. He had on a smile, and held up his hands to show George that he wasn't going to hurt him.

"What do you want?" George asked fearfully.

"Don't be scared," The man gave a throaty laugh. "I'm just here to help." George lowered his wand.

"Listen, I don't know what you want from me, but you have to leave." George demanded, pointing toward the door.

"You were crying," The man stated, nodding up at the staircase. "Right up there. Weren't you?"

George didn't answer. The man showed a yellow-toothed smile.

"What were you thinking about, boy?"

"Why don't you tell me, you seem to have all the answers," George replied sarcastically. The man let out a low chuckle.

"You're very funny…or at least, you used to be."

"What do you mean?" George asked, fearful again. "What do you know?"

"Not much," The man shrugged, starting to circle George. "Just that your name is George Weasley. You have one sister and five brothers. Or…it's four brothers now, isn't it?"

George froze.

"You had a twin, didn't you? Fred. Yes, that was his name. Fred."

"Don't you dare…"

"You miss him, don't you Georgie?"

"HEY!" George turned on his heel to where the man was standing, but he disapparated and appeared once again on the other side of George.

"Don't you dare call me Georgie!"

"Why so angry? Wouldn't you like to be happy again?"

"Please, just go…" George whispered, shoulders sinking. All he wanted to do was retreat into his dark, empty shop. Alone. With no one breathing down his neck, making him scared, making him wish for his twin even more.

"Wouldn't you like to see your twin again?"

"Please…" George covered his face with his hands. _Kill me if you have to,_ George thought.

"What if I told you that we could bring him back?"

"And why should I trust you?" George sneered. "What gives you the right…"

The man suddenly grabbed George's arm. A second later, they stood at the top of the stairs in front of a mirror.

"What do you see?"

George stared at the mirror. Fred stared back at him. Perfect, alive Fred. His skin was not bruised or bloodied as it had been when George last saw him during the battle. It was smooth and glowing, like the rest of Fred. He stood in the mirror laughing.

"You see him, don't you?" The man whispered. "You see Fred."

George said nothing—just stared into Fred's eyes.

"I can help you bring him back…" The man said lowly. "I've been helping the families of the victims that were involved in the battle. I've been keeping track of everyone who had lost someone, and I've been hearing of you for a while. When I saw your name in St. Mungo's, I realized that I had to step in."

"Wh...Where have you been hearing about me?" George asked, burning bright red. "What have people been saying?"

"Oh, there've been some stories." The man lowered his eyes to George's left arm. "There've been some stories," He repeated softly, staring at George's arm as if he could see the scars. George shifted his weight, feeling nervous. He finally turned in his arm and pressed the scars against his jeans. The man raised his eyes once again to George's face.

"I can help you get your twin back."

"No you can't," George said, but he raised his voice slightly; as if daring the man to prove himself. The tall, dark figure nodded.

"I can. But I need you. You're the one that wants him back, and I need your help. George, we can bring him back." He gestured at the glittering mirror where Fred stood. "If you join me, we can bring him back. If not…everything will stay the same." Fred still stood tall in the mirror, smiling and laughing. The man's eyes bored into George, as if he was reading George's thoughts.

Did George really want everything to stay the same? Did he want his mother to cry all the time? Did he want to look at the family, feeling miles away from them? Did he want to walk through the house past midnight, feeling so entirely alone?

He thought again of his family, standing outside his hospital room; Hermione's eyes glistening with tears. Ginny looked as if she had given up all hope. Harry and Ron, best friends, not speaking to each other. George somehow felt that it was his fault; the family was breaking, and George knew that it was his fault.

Suddenly, the mirror disappeared.

"No!" George cried. The man waved his arm again, the sparkling glass reappeared inches from George. Inside the mirror, Fred reached out his hand. But when George reached out to grab it, Fred started to get smaller. He fell backwards through the mirror, disappearing in the dark abyss. All that was left was George's reflection. His grimy face was streaked with tears. His white t-shirt ripped, his jeans tattered. He retracted his hand.

"My name is Slate, George," The man muttered, turning George to face him.

"Slate? You have a first name?"

"Does it matter?"

"Well I suppose it does," George snapped. "You want me to trust you? Then give me a name."

"Come on, George," The man smiled slowly. "I'm giving you the chance to get your twin back. Your best friend. Don't you want to see him again? Don't you want to open up this shop again, with him at your side?"

George said nothing.

"He was your best friend…and I can bring him back. But only if you help me."

George was reminded of the day the shop opened.

"_This is it, Georgie! Ready to open up the doors?"_

"_Look at the crowd already out there…this is impressive. We're pretty spectacular, aren't we?"_

"_Of course we are! We're spectacular in every way! I've got the beauty and the brains. You've got everything else."_

"_Gee, thanks, Freddie."_

"_No problem. So are we ready? Can we do it?"_

"_Just open the doors, already!"_

"I'll do it." George said quietly.

He knew it wasn't right. He knew that a voice in the back of his head was screaming at him not to do it. But he didn't care. If one mistake allowed him to see Fred, even if just for a moment, George was willing to make that mistake.

Even if the mistake meant risking his own life, George didn't find the strength to care.


	9. Slate

**Okeydokey, here is chapter 9! Thanks again for all your reviews-I really appreciate them! Enjoy!**

Slate

"How did you get here?" Slate barked, immediately turning toward the window and peering out the curtain.

"I…apparated, I suppose," George said hesitantly, watching Slate.

"Ah, we can't do that. We'll have to walk."

"Where? Why?"

"All in good time," Slate turned, pulling his hood over his head. It had started to rain.

"Can I tell anyone about this?"

"No." Slate's answer was so loud and sudden that George jumped. Thunder cracked overhead and lightning lit Slate's face as he stepped closer to George.

"If anyone else knows about this, they'll be exposed to magic they've never seen. And this sort of magic…it'll drive a wizard mad. Is that what you want?"

Slate's throaty voice sent chills down George's spine.

"No," George said quietly. He turned to the staircase where a brown sweatshirt lay. He tugged it over his head silently and picked up his wand. He paused before joining Slate.

"Are you sure you can do this?" He asked.

Slate's expression was stone-like.

"We have to move now."

George nodded, biting his lip. The voice in his head was still screaming.

_I don't care,_ George said to the voice. _I'm tired of thinking. I just want to go. Just let me go. I'm so, so tired of it all. Any hope of finding Fred again…I'm not the same without him. I'm not my own person without him. Everything was the two of us. This man is giving me a chance to become me again, don't you understand?_

The voice still protested.

The door swung open slowly. The streets of Hogsmeade were deserted; rain beat down violently, and every few seconds the sky was lit by streaks of lightning. George glanced to his side; all he could see of Slate was the red scar, running like a tear down his face in the rain. George was painfully reminded of his own scars and tugged down the sleeve of his old sweatshirt.

"Did you hear something?" Slate asked suddenly.

"What? No, I…" George paused. Listened. "I don't hear anything."

"We just don't want people catching on," Slate explained. "I've said before, this is some extraordinary magic that you'll be seeing. Bringing someone back from the dead…" George shivered at the word and tugged at his sleeve again.

"And you never know what sorts of people are out there—people who would use this magic for evil."

George said nothing. He couldn't bring himself to speak. His voice was caught in his throat; what would his family think? When would they see that he was missing? Had Percy forgiven him for earlier? Had his mother stopped crying since that afternoon?

Fear tied George's stomach into knots. Then he thought of the mirror. He thought of Fred standing there, reaching out for him. Those identical eyes. That identical grin. He thought of Fred falling, backwards through the mirror. The terror in his eyes, the way that his grin quickly turned into a scream. George wondered if that was how Fred looked when he died. His parents said he had been smiling, but…

"Oi!" Slate hissed. George realized that he was now several paces behind Slate, who was gesturing madly. George hurried through the puddles that were now ankle-deep. They were now just outside the gates of the small village.

"We'll apparate here. Take my arm."

George paused.

"George! What are you waiting for?"

"I just…I really want him back, okay? I really want him back."

Slate paused, his arm still in the air.

"I told you," He growled lowly, "just stick with me. The next time you come to this shop, your brother could be standing right next to you."

George took a deep breath and grabbed onto Slate's arm.

Speed.

Sickness.

Dizziness.

And suddenly, there was no more rain. They stood in front of a large mansion. Ivy grew along the sides, a long cobblestone path leading to the grand front doors. The mansion stood in front of a cloudy night sky. Fog rolled through the front lawn.

Slate wordlessly began to walk up the path; George noticed he had a limp.

"What're you waiting for?" Slate barked over his shoulder. George took a deep breath and followed. Slate waved his wand and the door swung open.

"We're home," Slate called into the house.

"Who are you talking to?" George asked, pulling down his hood. He looked around. The house looked old. It creaked with every step George took; it rattled with every gust of wind that came through.

"You'll see. They're right over here." Slate shrugged off his robe and tossed it on the floor. The two began to walk down the long, wooden hallway. The hall was empty; there were no doors to other rooms, or framed pictures of witches and wizards. Just a blank corridor leading to an unknown room.

When the two rounded the corner, George was met with another wizard and one witch.

"Here we are," said Slate, and swiftly walked into the room.

"Is that him?" Asked one of the other wizards, nodding at George. George stood at the doorway, shivering from the cold rain.

"Don't scare him, Dex," The witch grinned. She had long, curly brown hair and sharp blue eyes. She looked about George's age. "He only just got here. Come in, have a seat."

George walked into the room and tried to cover his shallow breathing, embarrassed. He didn't want to be afraid. Fred wouldn't have been this afraid.

"Don't be scared, sweetheart," The witch whispered. "I'm Romera. I'll help you feel at home here." She smiled again. Her teeth were pearl white.

"I told him we could help him bring back his twin," Slate said, glancing around the room.

"We can't do it without his help, now, can we?" The wizard named Dex eyed Slate. Slate grinned.

"Why do you think I brought him here?"

"Listen," George spoke, finally finding his voice. "I'll do what I can. But…I've never been that good with magic. I mean, I'll do anything possible. I'll do anything at all. But I don't know this kind of magic." He looked around the room, expecting disappointing looks and the wizards shaking their heads.

To his surprise, the three of them laughed.

"We don't need you to do the magic, George," Slate grinned. His eyes crinkled; the scar appeared redder than ever. "We need something powerful enough to perform the magic. A wand."

"Well…I'm afraid I haven't got it," George said nervously, pulling out his wand. "This wand is just…normal. It's the same as F—as my brother's." George clutched the wand so tightly that his knuckles turned bright white. "If that's what you mean, then I suppose you can have this one…"

"Not that wand, boy!" Howled another wizard that George hadn't noticed. He sat near the corner of the room by the fireplace. He had wavy black hair and jet black eyes. His shoulders were crooked and he was missing some teeth; his face was covered in long, jagged marks. He noticed George staring at him and grimaced.

"You're not the only one injured in the battle, kid. I've got some scars to show as well."

George hurriedly put his wand back in his pocket, relieved that he didn't have to give it up. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Romera looking at him from under the dark swoop of hair that covered her eyes.

"What he means is," Slate began, "we need a wand much more powerful than that. Perhaps you've heard of it."

George remained silent. His chest felt much too tight.

"It's called the Elder Wand," Slate said, studying George's face. "Ever heard of it?"

George hesitated. "In…in storybooks I have. _The Tale of Three Brothers._ Is that what you mean?"

"Read that one a lot, have you? Remember what it's about?"

George looked down, ashamed with himself for allowing tears to sting his eyes. Of course he remembered reading the story. His mother read it to him and Fred when they were little. Before they went to sleep, the twins would be jumping on their beds, squealing. Their mother came in clutching the book, and the boys would stop and settle down. Or at least, George would. Fred would bounce for a few more moments before plopping down next to George. They would get under the blankets while Molly perched on the edge of the bed and began to read.

While she was reading, George would kick Fred under the covers, who would laugh and kick back. Molly scolded them, but she smiled. Proud that her two little boys were best friends. Wondering how she ever got so lucky to have them. When she finished the story, she kissed them both on the foreheads and turned off the lights. Fred and George would stay up, talking quietly, making jokes and laughing.

Of course George remembered the story.

"I know it," George said quietly. Slate nodded.

"It's the most powerful wand in the world," He explained. "Able to perform any sort of magic; or at least, it's what we believe. We've never seen it. Have you, George? Ever seen the Elder Wand?"

George shook his head. "I didn't even know that it truly existed."

"Of course. Well, then I suppose you don't know who has it."

George shook his head again.

"We believe you know the kid," The wizard across the room laughed to himself. Slate shot him a look from across the room.

"Who? Who is it?" George asked, although he had a sneaking suspicion. He remembered a time shortly after fourth year had ended. They had walked out of Cedric's funeral solemnly. After a few hours, Fred finally found the strength to speak.

"_It all comes down to Harry, doesn't it?"_

"_What do you mean?"_

"_It's just…seeing You-Know-Who and all…and last year, with the Chamber of Secrets…"_

"_And the year before, the Sorceror's Stone…"_

"_Right. It just all comes down to Harry, doesn't it?"_

For the following years, Fred and George used to joke; whenever something beyond their imaginations was happening, it all came down to one person.

"Harry Potter."

George smiled slightly.

Of course. Harry Potter.


	10. At the Burrow

At the Burrow

It was late. Past midnight. Ron stood at George's bedroom door, staring at the empty room. The house around him was silent, the air thick with worry and disappointment.

"Ron?" It was Ginny. "Ron, you should get some sleep." She walked tenderly to his side and also looked at the empty room. Half-finished joke shop products lay on the floor. Posters framed the beds. It was as if nothing had happened; as if Fred and George were just gone at their shop, preparing to come home in a few hours.

"How am I supposed to do that?" Ron choked. Ginny sighed.

"We're all scared. But staying up all night, staring at an empty bed…"

"Two empty beds."

Ginny paused, searching for the right words before continuing. "Even so, it's not going to help anything. We'll look tomorrow. Okay?" Ginny put a small hand on Ron's back. Ron didn't budge.

"Why did this have to happen?" Ron whispered. "Why, Gin? We've lost them both."

"We'll find George," Ginny began, but Ron cut her off.

"We've lost him, Ginny! Face it!" Ron looked at Ginny, anger in his eyes. "We lost him as soon as he saw Fred's body!"

"Ron, don't do this," Ginny crossed her arms and looked away.

"You know it's true," Ron stepped closer to his sister. "As soon as he saw Fred. Something left him. He's not the same."

"He's grieving! He lost a _twin_, Ron. It'll take some time, you know that!"

"How much time?" Ron roared. "He's running _out_ of time. You should have seen him there, in the bathroom. I've never seen him cry like that. I don't even think he knew he was crying. He just sat there, bleeding and staring at his arm. Harry started screaming and I ran down to get Mum, and he just sat there. He doesn't care anymore, Ginny. And if he keeps this up, soon he'll be dead too."

The words pierced Ginny like daggers. "Ron!" Ginny gasped, but tears filled her eyes. The siblings paused, holding their breath; listening for any sign of movement, waiting for someone to come up and make sure that they were all right. But the room was as empty and silent as ever. Ginny looked up at her brother, who stared at George's bed with rage in his eyes.

Neither could find words. Neither wanted to.

Ginny turned and began to walk away, but paused at the top of the stairs.

"You need Harry back, Ron."

"This has got nothing to do with him." Ron growled, but his voice caught. Ginny nodded sadly.

"You need him right now. Everyone needs a best friend in times like these, and you don't want to lose Harry. George lost his best friend, and you can see how that's turning out."

Ron didn't bother with a response. Ginny sighed softly and began to walk downstairs, but before she could make it back to her room, Ron spoke.

"He's special, Ginny." He spoke so softly she wasn't sure she heard him right.

"He used to laugh. George, I mean. He's his own person, but I don't think he knows that. He thinks that he's nothing without Fred. But he's wrong. He's funny, and kind, and…he's George."

Ginny nodded, looking down at her hands. She fiddled with the tie on her robe. She knew Ron was right. With nothing else to say, Ginny glanced at her brother once more and headed downstairs.

She passed her mother and father, who sat on the sofa. Arthur held Molly in his arms. Both stared into the fire with a lost look in their eyes.

She passed Bill and Fleur, who spoke quietly in the kitchen. Fleur stroked Bill's cheek.

She passed Charlie and Percy. Charlie spoke to Percy softly, who stared, stone-faced, at the wall.

She shut the door quietly to her and Hermione's room. Hermione was buried under the covers, wand lit and reading a book. But as Ginny brushed her teeth, wiped off her makeup from the funeral, and slipped into bed, she didn't hear one page turn. There was just silence.

Things had changed around the Burrow.


	11. Romera

**Hi guys! Sorry it's been a few days, I originally planned to put this one up yesterday. As always, reviews are wonderful :) Enjoy the chapter!**

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><p>Romera<p>

"Well, it's late," Slate said abruptly. George was startled.

"But…you haven't told me anything. About what I need to do."

"We will," Dex said, brushing George's shoulder with his own as he passed. George stood up hurriedly.

"Tomorrow? Are you sure that won't be too late by then?"

Dex started to laugh, but Slate silenced him.

"It won't be too late," He said curtly, and turned his back. "Romera will help you to your room," He said over his shoulder, jabbing a thumb at Romera. She grinned and tossed her long hair over her shoulder.

"Come with me," She said smoothly, taking George's hand. George followed her up the stairs. His eyes drooped and he felt sick to his stomach. He barely knew what was happening. Romera led him up a creaky flight of stairs and took him to a bedroom at the very end of the hall. The room stood completely on its own; when George turned to look at the hallway, he had the feeling that he was entirely alone.

"What's the matter? Don't you like it?" Romera asked, tilting her head and widening her eyes at George. She had big eyes and a round, innocent face; but the dark curtain of hair gave her a mysterious look.

"It's…it's fine," George said. "Are you sure I can't start today? They just need to tell me what I need to do. I can get started tonight." But his eyes were already half-closed, and he swayed with exhaustion. Romera smiled.

"I like you," She laughed. "You're funny. I can tell."

George looked up at her quickly. No one had said that to him since Fred died. He suddenly saw himself through her eyes; the person he used to be. Always happy. Always smiling. He wanted nothing more than to be that person again. Romera laughed again.

"What? You look surprised," She purred, putting a hand on George's chest. George backed into the room, shaking his head.

"Nothing. It's—nothing. Thanks for…for showing me up here, I suppose," George said uncomfortably. He glanced around. "It's…very…roomy." Romera smiled slyly.

"It was my pleasure, Georgie," She whispered. George shook his head.

"Don't call me that." Romera backed off for a moment, narrowing her eyes at George. He could feel her evaluating him in those dark eyes of hers.

"Oh, I'm sorry," Romera sighed after a moment, wrapping her arms around George's chest. "I must have forgotten."

"Please," George said softly.

"I just want to help you feel at home. I lost someone in the battle, too," Romera said sadly, playing with the fabric of George's shirt. "A sister."

"I'm sorry," George said softly. Romera was still watching him intently.

"I know it's hard," She continued airily. "I know that you must feel alone sometimes." George didn't know what he was doing. Romera slid her hands down the front of his chest, to his stomach.

"Don't you trust us, George?" She asked, playing with the hem of his t-shirt.

"I don't know anymore," George said desperately. "I'm so tired of not knowing. I just want to forget everything, just for a few moments."

"I wanted that too," Romera breathed. She slid her hands around his waist. "I know what it's like. My baby sister…gone…"

George watched Romera toss her curly hair away from her eyes.

"You want to forget everything? Just for a moment? I can help you with that," Romera purred. She shut the door behind her with her foot and laced her fingers through George's hair. George closed his eyes. His stomach was twisted in knots; he felt sick. Ashamed. Torn.

Romera's fingers slipped down from George's face, to his chest, his stomach, and to his jeans.

Suddenly, the voice in George's head spoke up. George's eyes snapped open. He grabbed Romera's wrists and pushed back from her.

"No. No. Not tonight." He said fiercely, breathing heavily. The voice in his head was still yelling. Romera pursed her lips.

"Okay, George. Not tonight." She snapped her wrists back and opened the door behind her with a bang. "Enjoy the room, Georgie," She said, briskly walking to the doorway. Before George could breathe a sigh of relief, she paused.

"If you ever need anyone…I'm here." When George glanced up again, she was gone. The corridor was once again deserted. George sank down onto his bed and rested his head in his hands.

The voice in his head was Fred's. He somehow knew that.

George took out his wand and rested it on the table next to him.

As he fell asleep, he heard his mother telling him the story. He felt Fred next to him, kicking him under the sheets. He heard Ginny down the hall, giggling as Ron played with her. The sounds of his old life surrounded him.

But George had never felt so alone.

* * *

><p>George woke with a start. He could barely remember where he was. The room he was in creaked—it seemed to rock, back and forth, back and forth. With a wince, George remembered last night. Slate. Dex. Romera.<p>

Romera.

Did that really happen?

George felt like a different person. He rolled off his bed, and suddenly felt his arm seize up. He shouted before he remembered why it was burning; the word was red like fire on his pale skin. _Fred._ George grabbed his arm and bit his lip to keep quiet. He rocked himself back and forth, like a mother trying to soothe her baby, trying to take his mind off of the pain. He didn't know who could be listening, or who could be just down the hall. The pain subsided after a few minutes and George let go. Long, red finger prints were left on his arm over the word.

George pulled on a long-sleeved shirt and stretched the sleeve down as far as he could over the cuts. He ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the full-length mirror in the corner of the musty room. With a deep breath, George wrenched open the stiff door and entered the hall.

He stepped quietly; carefully, hoping not to wake anyone. But as he neared the stairs, George realized everyone was already awake. They sat around the counter in the kitchen, talking lowly. When George slinked into the kitchen, the talking stopped immediately.

"Hey there," Slate said, grinning the same crooked grin as when George met him a day ago.

"Morning," George muttered. There was a silence.

"How'd you sleep?" He heard a smooth voice behind him and felt Romera brush his arm as she passed, smiling coyly over her shoulder. George opened his mouth, but his voice cracked.

"Fine," He said, clearing his throat and trying again. Romera smirked.

Another silence.

George was painfully reminded of the thick tension at the Burrow.

"So, er…you never finished telling me…" George struggled with the right ending. Dex laughed.

"That's true, Slate. You gonna finish talking to this guy? So we can get him his twin back?" Dex asked harshly. George narrowed his eyes slightly; he knew that he didn't like Dex. He had a severe face and a cruel voice. But he was with Slate, who had promised…who had _promised…_

"Sorry about that," Slate smiled at George. The scar wrinkled. "Where did we leave off?"

George hesitated; he wasn't sure whether this was a trick.

"Harry. Er, Harry Potter." George blushed. He wasn't used to using the last name. Harry was a friend, after all. Slate raised his eyebrows.

"Ahh, yes. Harry Potter. You're his friend, is that right?"

"Right. Well, he's my brother Ron's friend. But yeah, I've known him for a while, if that's what you mean," George babbled nervously.

"And what else did we talk about last night, George?" Dex piped up from across the kitchen.

"The…the Elder Wand," George said, eyeing Dex.

"That's right. Now, these two things have something in common," Slate said, moving across the kitchen slowly. "You know what it is?"

George shook his head. Slate smiled and put down his mug of coffee.

"Want something to eat, George?" He asked, changing the subject. George was caught off-guard.

"I—no, I'm good. What about the wand? Will it bring…him back?" George asked impatiently.

"You sure? You're looking pretty thin," Slate observed through his cloudy eyes.

"I'm sure."

"Suit yourself," Slate remarked, and turned his back to George.

"Please!" George snapped, losing his patience. "Please, just tell me!"

"All right, then," Slate said, turning back around. "You're very determined, aren't you?"

George just nodded.

"Harry Potter has the Elder Wand," Slate slinked closer to George. "It's his. He owns it."

George nodded again and knitted his eyebrows.

"And…you need the wand," George said slowly. Slate raised his eyebrows and lifted his head slightly.

"Smart boy," George heard Romera purr from across the counter, but he didn't dare look at her.

"So…you need Harry. Because he has the wand."

"Exactly."

"Are you sure that he still has it?" George asked doubtfully. "I mean, what if something was to happen to it?"

"Oh, nothing's happened to it," Slate said confidently, but glanced over George's head at Dex, who cleared his throat and looked back down at his paper.

"You see, when Harry defeated Voldemort, he had all three of the Deathly Hallows. Including the Elder Wand. Without it, he wouldn't have even been able to survive."

George nodded. "So he must have the Elder Wand. And you know this for a fact?"

"George," Romera said suddenly, lifting herself from the table. The hem of her long, silver nightgown coiled to the floor. "This is your twin that we're talking about. Your best friend. Your Fred." George felt his throat tighten. "Don't you want to bring him back?"

"Of course I do, but…I just was wondering…" He glanced back and forth between Dex and Slate.

"Wondering what? George, you are _wasting_ _time_. Every minute you stand here asking questions, Fred is slipping further and further away from us."

"Remember the mirror?" Slate asked, staring down at his coffee mug. George inhaled sharply, remembering Fred falling into the darkness.

"Is that what you want?" Romera continued. "For it to be too late? And for it to be your fault? Do you want that, Georgie?"

George didn't even bother to correct her; his throat was tight, his eyes stinging, but he refused to let himself cry. He wouldn't. Not anymore. He looked up at Slate, who stood tall over the kitchen counter. Then at Dex, who neatly folded up the paper, briskly walked to the other room, and tossed it in the fire. Then at Romera, who stood dangerously close to George.

He knew something was wrong.

But George thought again of that empty shop, dusty and lonely in the narrow streets of Hogsmeade. He thought of his family; of his mother, who hadn't stopped crying for months. He thought of what Fred had said to him before their first Quidditch game.

"_I dunno, Fred, look at it outside! It's pouring, and did you see that lightning?"_

"_You doubt yourself too much. Just play like you always do, and it'll be fine."_

"_Okay. Just promise me that you won't do anything too stupid. I mean, I'm all for doing stupid things, but this time…"_

"_You think too much, Georgie. We're going to be fine. We always are."_

He looked again at Slate and nodded his head.

"Tell me what I have to do."


	12. Facing Facts

**And here is Chapter 12! I really, really appreciate everyone reviewing and following this. You all make me happy! Please let me know what you think of this :) Enjoy!**

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><p>Facing Facts<p>

George stood in front of the door to the Burrow. He couldn't believe he was going back there. What should he say to them? How should he act? Ignore the fact that he nearly killed himself and then ran away for two days? Or face his parents, his little siblings, and tell them what had happened?

He remembered what Slate said to him just moments ago before ordering George back to the Burrow.

"_We need the wand. Harry has it. Go back to your home, and get Harry to come back with you."_

"_Do I tell him what I need it for?"_

"_No." The answer was so sharp and immediate that George narrowed his eyes in suspicion._

"_Why not?"_

"_I told you, George, this magic is unlike anything you've ever seen. You need to bring him here first; he himself needs to give us the wand. We need to see him and explain before anything can be done."_

"_How…how soon do you need him?"_

"_As soon as possible, George. The longer you take, the closer you are to losing Fred forever."_

_Perhaps if George wasn't so stricken with grief; if he was still thinking straight, if he had the same confidence he had with his twin, if he had only listened to the screaming voice in his head…Fred's voice…then perhaps George would have turned angrily, outrun his fear, and mend his broken family. But George could only think of Fred's sharp scream in the mirror, how small he looked as he fell further away…_

"_Then I'll be back soon."_

_And the voice was lost with the pulling and stretching and spinning as George apparated back to his house._

George quietly stepped into the Burrow. It was mid-afternoon now; the last time that George was here, he sat in the lawn chairs, in the glow of the sun. The funeral seemed like years ago.

"Hello?" He called into the kitchen. No one answered. He heard footsteps upstairs. He caught a glimpse of his mother, in the backyard. Hanging up laundry. Like nothing had ever changed.

From the other room, George heard a voice.

"Thank you…yes, thank you for your time. I'm sure we will find 'im. 'E can't have gone far." Fleur walked into the room and, seeing George, shrieked and covered her mouth with her slender hands.

"George!" She cried, and raced over to hug him. George allowed himself to bury his face in her shoulder and take a deep breath. He didn't dare bring his shaking arms up to her, but let Fleur rock him back and forth.

Finally, Fleur pulled away. Tears glistened in her eyes.

"George," She said with a watery smile, "George, I'm so happy. We were so worried." She put a hand on his face. "Your family…they were so scared. Ginny and Ron…Percy is sorry, I know 'e is…" Fleur began to cry.

"George, I am part of your family now. I got scared, too. Please, George, come into the kitchen. I will get your parents."

George grabbed her wrist, stopping her before she could slip through the back door to where Molly was busying herself with the laundry. He paused and considered the question forming in his head, but as Fleur looked at him with her intense blue eyes, George felt himself crumble.

"Are they…mad?" He asked, and instantly regretted it. He sounded like a child who had just run away from home. Fleur dropped her shoulders and took a few ginger steps toward George, wrapping her hands around his.

"They love you, George. They were just scared."

George bit his lip and permitted her to run to the backyard. He heard footsteps rapidly coming down the stairs, and felt his stomach churn.

"George!" Ron and Ginny gasped in unison, now standing in the kitchen. Ron's face was pale as a ghost; Ginny's blazing eyes were wide. "You're back!"

"George!" This time it was Molly, who flew into the kitchen and threw herself at George. The back door shut with a bang, but the sound was muffled as Molly's arms closed tightly around her son.

"Hi, Mum," George said into her sweater. He looked over Molly's shoulder at his father, who breathed a sigh of relief and slumped into a chair. He rubbed his head. From his bloodshot eyes, George could tell that he hadn't been sleeping.

"You guys," George pulled himself away from Molly, who wiped her face with her sleeve, sniffling loudly. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I left. I shouldn't have done that."

"Oh, George, you're back now, that's all that matters!" Molly said, squeezing George's hand. George smiled sadly. Here he was, bringing joy to a broken family. So what if he had caused the pain in the first place? They were smiling at him, just like they used to. Just like they used to when Fred was there.

For a moment, George felt himself again.

"I'm okay, if that's what you're wondering," George blurted as his family eyed him. "I'm not hurt or anything."

"Oh, of course not," Molly said, beaming through tears. "You're so strong, Georgie, you're…" She suddenly caught herself once she uttered the word. _Georgie. _Her eyes widened and her voice cracked—George glanced around the room once more.

Ginny clutched Ron's arm. Arthur's sleepy eyes were now alert. Fleur held tightly onto Bill's hand, her delicate face lined with panic. They all remembered what had happened the last time someone had used Fred's name for George, and George was struck by guilt. He had brought them just a few moments of joy; but the fear, the pain he had given them was much greater.

"Anyways, I'm back. But just for a little bit." George felt color rise in his face, but continued as if nothing had happened.

"Oh, no, George," Molly said, clutching George's hand again. "No, just stay here. Talk to us, please, we'll help you! We'll help you!" She pleaded.

"It's all right, mate, you don't have to leave," said Ron, stepping away from Ginny. "Stay, will you? We're one person short, anyway." Ron said, but Ginny elbowed him. George narrowed his eyes.

"One person short?" He asked. Ron said nothing.

"Harry's gone," Ginny said. "He left two days ago, after the funeral."

"He—he what?" George demanded. He needed Harry. Fred needed Harry. "He left?"

"He was upset," Ginny explained. "I think he feels responsible. And he and Ron…" Ginny glanced at Ron over her shoulder, who seemed intent on tracing the wooden railing with his finger. "They weren't getting along very nicely, and he just left."

"Do you know where?" George begged.

"No, he just said he'd…be leaving for a while…" Ginny eyed George suspiciously. "Is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine," George said immediately. His family watched him with intense curiosity.

"Well…would you like something to eat, then?" His mother asked hopefully. George would have said no; it was his instinct now to deny any sort of offer. But George could practically feel his heart crack as he took one look at his mother's desperate, hopeful eyes, and caught himself.

"Sure. That is, if it's not too much trouble." He said quietly, sitting down at the table.

"Of course not! Anything you want!" Molly quickly waved her wand, and it seemed as if all the kitchen items seemed to move. Pots and pans rushed themselves to the stove; whisks and spoons began stirring dishes by themselves. George grinned slightly at Molly's pink cheeks, her suppressed smile.

George used to make people happy like that. He and Fred. They were unstoppable.

For just a second, George found himself wishing that he never had to go back to that ivy-covered house. That he never had to see that bloody scar again; or hear Dex's menacing laugh. He never wanted to see Romera again; to feel her long, icy cold fingers on his chest.

And then looked to his side.

It seemed like he couldn't do anything without being reminded of Fred.

Next to him was the chair where Fred would sit at every morning. Every afternoon, when they planned out their joke products. Every evening at dinner with the family; making them laugh, and occasionally causing Molly to scold them.

"_What? Mum, we weren't doing anything."_

"_You know what you did wrong, Fred! You too, George! The cake I made for tonight is all over the ceiling! Why did you do it? For goodness' sake, boys, __**how**__ did you do it?"_

"_A magician never reveals his secrets, Mum."_

"_Oh, you think that you're so clever, Fred!"_

"_It was a mistake, Mum!"_

"_Well, you'd better stop making your mistakes for the rest of the day, because you two are helping me make a new cake for tonight."_

"_Come on, it wasn't our fault!"_

"_George Weasley, don't be smart with me. You and your brother will be helping me make a new cake, and you both will be cleaning the kitchen after what you've done."_

And while they cleaned off the ceiling, the twins would snicker to themselves occasionally, because they knew that it was worth it. Every experiment, even gone wrong, was worth it.

It was where Fred and George sat before they left for their first day of Hogwarts. They talked non-stop of the stories they'd heard, the professors to watch out for. The pranks they could play. An entire world of opportunities, made special for the two of them.

"_Hogwarts is just the place for us, Georgie! A whole school, can you imagine? It seems like it was made for us."_

George shook his head and cleared his throat. He forced himself to look down at his plate, which was now piled high with pancakes, eggs, and sausage. The kitchen was suddenly empty again; Arthur was sitting in the other room, rubbing his eyes tiredly. Ginny and Ron had escaped back upstairs, and Hermione was with Bill and Fleur. Embarrassed, George knew that they left because they saw he was upset. Around George, it was as if they were waiting for a bomb to explode, and sometimes it was easier just to escape.

He no longer felt like eating. He no longer felt like staying at the Burrow. He felt as if he was simply running in circles, and the only way that he could get back on track was if he got Fred back. Seeing that empty chair just reminded him how much he needed Fred in his life. It was always "Fred and George," never just "George." He wasn't himself without Fred. He wasn't anyone special. He used to be, but not anymore.

"What's the matter, George? You must be starving! Eat!" Molly beamed, wiping her hands on her apron and sitting at the chair on the other side of George. "And you don't have to talk, either, sweetheart. Just talk when you're ready. You look exhausted, George. Enjoy your meal, please? Just for me?" Molly put a warm hand on George's arm. He wondered if she could feel the scars beneath his sleeve.

"Of course, Mum," George said, and began to shovel eggs into his mouth. It felt strange to eat again. After two bites, George felt full; but he would keep eating as long as his mom was watching him eagerly. Molly fiddled her thumbs before speaking.

"Arthur's going back to work," She said, too-brightly. George nodded.

"How was that decided?"

"Oh, you know," Molly said. "It's time to go back to normal." There was a pause. Molly glanced outside.

"It's nice weather out today. Not too cold."

"I hear it's supposed to get worse," George noted. Molly nodded.

"Ah, well. It's the winter." She forced a smile. The two continued talking like this for the rest of his meal. George ate slowly, forcing the pancakes down his throat, hoping that he would come up with a topic that they could talk about, but he never did.

When George finished, Molly wordlessly picked up his dishes and set them in the sink to be washed. She turned to him and smiled. She opened her mouth as if to say something, but then closed it.

"Anything else right now?" She asked after a moment of silence. George couldn't tell if she wanted to stay with him in that awful silence, or if she was ready to see him go to his room. Like normal.

"No, but thanks, Mum." George replied simply, and pushed himself away from the table. He slowed as he neared the top of the stairs, listening to Molly start to scrub the dishes. He played back their conversation in his head quickly and ran a hand through his hair.

He was boring.

Without Fred, he was boring.

He had just sat at the kitchen table with his mum for a little less than an hour, and had barely said a word. No jokes. Nothing for Molly to scold. Just an occasional and polite "yes please" and "no thank you."

George shut his bedroom door quietly, hoping that no one would come out of their room to talk to him. He rested his head against the door and took a deep breath. He thought again of the mirror. Of Fred smiling at him, and George smiling back. George needed to find Harry before he completely lost who he was.


	13. Lost

**Hello everyone! It might take me a little longer to update this week, since I've got school starting on Wednesday. But I'll update as often as possible! As always, let me know what you think of the story-I appreciate your input :)**

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><p>Lost<p>

George woke with a start. He was back home, in his own bed. He found it hard to keep track sometimes of where he was. One day he'd wake up in his bed in the Burrow. Another time he would wake up in an unfamiliar, creaking house. Sometimes he woke up and he was eight-years-old, and Fred was still snoring in the bed next to him. Other times he woke up and he was sprinting down the corridors of Hogwarts, feeling rubble underneath his feet and hearing shouts from the floors below.

Other times he woke up and he was still on that astronomy tower with Fred, elbowing him gently and forcing a smile through the fear. He woke up and saw the terror in his brother's eyes, unlike anything he had ever seen before.

George yawned, stretched, and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He looked straight ahead at the wall, his eyes just inches away from the covered mirror hanging over Fred's bed. George could already hear his parents up, cooking and chatting downstairs. He thought he could hear Ginny's voice as well; but Ron seemed to be absent.

George pulled on jeans and an old black t-shirt and walked downstairs, preparing himself for the worried and sympathetic looks of his family.

"George, good morning!" His father chirped, studying George's face intently.

"Spot of breakfast, dear?" His mum asked, waving a pan towards him. George put up a hand.

"I'm okay for now, thanks," He said. He looked down and saw Ginny glaring at him with a knowing look in her eye.

"Erm…or I guess a few eggs wouldn't hurt," George said with a strained smile at Ginny, and he pulled out the chair next to her. "Where's Ron?"

"Oh, he's up in his room. He's been rather quiet these past few days."

"Only because Harry's gone," Ginny piped up, tipping eggs onto her plate. George watched her, wondering when to ask.

"He's been in this mood since Harry left. I mean, it was a big fight, but they should be over it by now. And with Harry gone, it'll be much harder for them to just make up."

"Where's he gone?" George asked innocently. Ginny shrugged.

"He told me that he's just going away for a little. He'll be back, though. He just needs some time for himself, time to think. I think all of us need that."

"Oh." George pushed his pancakes around his plate with his fork. "I suppose we do. Are you okay with this?"

"Oh, I miss him," Ginny sighed, "but everyone handles themselves differently at times. It's been hard for all of us, and Harry's always been a bit…curious," Ginny smiled. "But he'll be back." She watched George push around his food for a moment with a suspicious look in her blazing eyes. "Are you all right, George? You seem to be acting strangely."

"Just worried for Ron is all," George muttered, and shoved a pancake in his mouth. He could feel Ginny's eyes linger on him for a moment longer before she went back to her breakfast.

"Paper, George?" Arthur offered George part of the paper, but George waved it away. Ever since the battle ended, the paper had been full of deaths and injuries; some old, some new. George couldn't bring himself to read it.

"Morning, George," Bill entered the kitchen and clapped George on the back.

"Good morning," Fleur sang, following Bill closely.

"Oh, Bill, it's like you've moved back home!" Molly swatted him with a wooden spoon, but smiled widely. Her cheeks were glowing as she surveyed the table. "My boys together again!"

"Well, I just like to keep an eye on things," Bill smiled as he sat down. "You know how out of control things used to get when I wasn't here," He chuckled. Fleur looped her long, frail arm around his shoulders.

"My husband, 'e is so responsible! Always there for 'is family," Fleur said, and planted a kiss on his cheek. "I am proud to be 'is wife!" George laughed, glancing up at the two. That was the life he wanted one day. A perfect wife, a nice house, a successful business in the joke shop…

"You all right, George?" Bill asked casually, helping himself to the paper. George knew that he was simply forcing himself to be casual. He could tell by the way Fleur caught her breath and looked between the two of them. He felt like it was planned.

"I'm fine," George said curtly.

"Is Ron up yet?" Bill asked as his mother loaded his plate with pancakes.

"Ah, not yet," Arthur closed the paper and took off his glasses. "I'm afraid he's still in his room."

"And Hermione?"

"Probably with him. She's been trying to calm him down for days, now. I don't understand why she puts up with him," Ginny said. "She's too patient."

"No, of course not! She is there for 'im," Fleur said, waving Ginny off. "You need to be there for the ones that you love!"

"Then Harry should be back here by now," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. George smiled at his defiant, strong little sister. She caught his eye and gave a small smile.

"Ahem." Everyone in the kitchen turned. Ron stood at the bottom of the stairs. His frown stretched across his face. His hair was messy, his pajamas unclean and too short for him. Hermione stood behind him, looking exhausted and frustrated. The sight was almost comical.

"Good morning, Ron," Bill said calmly. "I take it you want us to acknowledge you now? After locking yourself in your room for two days? Or perhaps after you yelled at Fleur for washing your sweatshirt without your permission, which hadn't been washed since you went on the run with Harry about a year ago?"

Ron said nothing. He just made a low sound in his throat and dramatically threw himself into a kitchen chair.

"I think he and Harry just need some couples counseling," Ginny whispered to George, who snorted.

While Molly rushed to push pancakes onto Ron's plate, Arthur spoke up.

"What are you up to today, Ron?" He asked, folding his paper.

"What am I up to? I dunno Dad, should I be up to something?" Ron asked moodily.

"Well, it has been a few months since school ended…Ginny signed up for another year this morning. What do you think? Going back to Hogwarts?"

"I don't really want to think about that now, Dad," Ron rolled his eyes and began to cut his sausage violently.

"Son, you want to start thinking. You might miss your chance, and have to wait until next year."

"Well, can't I do that?"

Arthur sighed. "I think that you'll feel better once you get back into things. And when Harry comes back, we'll talk to him about this too."

"I don't care what Harry's doing," Ron snapped, staring down at his plate. George glanced up from his breakfast. His forearm had started tingling, and George took a few deep breaths to stop the pain before it got any worse.

"Harry can do whatever he wants. He's not your son, you know," Ron continued angrily.

"I know that, Ron, I'm not saying that he is."

"That's what you say," Ron mumbled under his breath.

"Okay, Ron, what do you mean by that?" Arthur demanded, putting down his silverware with a loud clatter, his voice rising.

"It's like you're replacing Fred with a new son!" Ron suddenly burst, as if he had the answer prepared for a long time. "Harry's like your new son! That way, you still have seven Weasley kids. Seven mouths to feed. And you, too!" He rounded on Molly. "You _like _having everyone back here, Mum." Ron said, shooting a look at his mother.

"Ronald," She began, but Ron cut her off.

"What I'm saying is, I don't care what Harry's going to do next year. He can come back to Hogwarts if he wants, or he can leave. And you shouldn't care either. You should focus on your family, which isn't in the best of sorts right now. Or haven't you noticed? You should be focusing on me, or Ginny, or your son who just tried to…"

Suddenly, Molly's large frying pan fell to the floor with a crash and the floating utensils stopped working. Hermione put her hand on Ron's arm, and Bill had stood up quickly. George flushed. A son who had tried to…what?

"Whatever," Ron said, clearing his plate away and tossing it in the sink. "Harry can come back whenever he wants to."

"He's your best friend, Ron," Ginny said exasperatedly, throwing a glance at George. "He'll come back, and you'll be happy to see him…that's the way it has to be! And you know it!"

Ron narrowed his eyes at Ginny, who stared straight back at him. The Weasleys held their breath, while George self-consciously lifted his arm off the table and put it on his lap. Slowly, Ron nodded and sat back down. Without hesitation, the pots and pans began cleaning themselves, and the kitchen jumped back to life.

"Oh!" Fleur squealed, startled by the sudden movement. George caught Ron smile slightly at Fleur's excitement, and Molly hurriedly turned back to cooking. Bill lifted the paper again, and Ginny sighed impatiently and went back to her pancakes.

Suddenly remembering the night before, George excused himself quickly. He had to let Slate know; Harry could be gone for months. The longer he waited, the higher the chance was that George would miss his chance to save Fred. Though the voice in George's head started in protest, the burning in his arm propelled him forward, urging him to move; to get back to the old mansion and tell someone.

George quickly walked to his room and locked his door. He paused for a moment, daring himself to look at the single mirror that hung in their room. But it was too hard. It was always going to be hard unless George did something about it. Without another thought, George shut his eyes and disapparated from his bustling house.

He now stood outside the ivy-covered mansion, steadying himself. With a slight jump, George saw the tall figure by the door. Slate stood outside, as if expecting George. He looked even more haggard than usual; his eyes strangely dark.

"Well?" He asked impatiently. George struggled to catch his breath.

"He's…he's gone," George panted.

"Gone?" Slate roared, and punched the wall beside him. "Gone where?"

"We don't know. They say he'll be back, though. They seem pretty sure about it."

"And you? Are you sure about it?"

George was startled by the question. "Yes…yes, I'm sure of it. This is Harry's home, basically. I mean, Hogwarts is his home, but for the summers and the winters, it's always been the Burrow. Always. He'll be back soon."

Slate nodded, a wild look in his eyes. A silence followed in which George studied the mansion closely; the stiff wooden doors, the rickety glass windows…

"What do you want me to do?" George asked. He paused before asking his next question. "Unless you've reconsidered…I mean, I could just stay at home…" He said uncertainly. Slate looked at George with rage in his eyes.

"And turn your back on your twin? Is that what you want?"

"No!" George cried angrily. "No, that is not '_what I want,_' mind you! I'm just unsure about how this is going to happen! How do we know he has the Elder Wand? How do we know it will work?"

"I've told you before, and I'm not telling you again," Slate growled, his face now inches from George's. "We can perform this kind of magic with that wand. The wand belongs to Harry. Get Harry, and bring him to us. We can bring back your brother. Understand?"

George nodded. His breaths became shallow; his stomach turned with fear.

"I understand."

"Go home. Wait for him. The moment he comes home, then come to me. You got it?"

George nodded hesitantly, clenching his teeth. His headache was worse than ever before. He knew that Slate wanted more from him, but all George wanted to do was get back to his home, his room, where he could shut off the lights and escape for just a few moments. He turned, eager to get back. For the first time, he found himself excited to see his family again. Hell, he even wanted to see Percy if it meant escaping from this unfamiliar world; from those dark eyes and that jagged scar.

"And George?" Slate said. George stopped walking, but didn't dare turn around. Slate walked carefully towards George, rubbing his chin. His scar glinted in the sunlight.

"Remember how I said that this is extraordinary magic? And no one can know about it?"

George nodded again, unable to speak. Slate paused just inches from George, breathing down his neck.

"If you tell anyone about it…I may not be able to bring Fred back at all. So get Harry. And get back here."

George was shaking now. He swallowed, nodded curtly, and resumed walking. He ran to the gates of the house, down the street, and into an alley. He sank to the wet ground and rested his head in his arms.

This wasn't right.

Even if such magic could be performed, George knew that it shouldn't be done. It wasn't natural. But he thought again of Fred in the mirror—screaming as he fell backwards, reaching a hand out for his brother to catch him.

He thought of the look in Slate's eye when he told George that no one can know. Slate was powerful, no doubt. And unafraid to use any sort of magic…for any purpose. George had no choice but to go home and wait.

George quickly apparated back to his room and arrived to the sound of Ginny knocking on his door.

He took a few deep breaths and shoved his trembling hands into his pockets before answering.

What was he getting into?


	14. Found

**Hello! Hopefully I updated fast enough, I'm trying to keep it pretty consistent even with school and whatnot! As always, reviews are fabulous :) Enjoy!**

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><p>Found<p>

Life in the Weasley house went on like that breakfast for a few months. Ron's mood swings were the same as they always were; George always considered him a pretty moody guy. Molly cooked every morning and did the laundry every afternoon, doing anything to keep her mind occupied. Bill and Fleur came over almost every other day. Bill was right—there was an air of calmness whenever he was around. And Fleur whisked around the house in lacy dresses, always smiling. She made the Weasleys laugh. Even Ginny, who at one time in her life hated Fleur. Charlie dropped by every now and then to have dinner with the family. Sometimes, George felt normal.

Even Percy came around every once in a while. After an awkward greeting with George, Percy stuck out his hand. George took it reluctantly, but Percy smiled at him. That night, he heard Percy talking to his mother about what it was like to have seen Fred die. George didn't dare let him know that he was jealous—after all, George would have given anything to be with Fred in his last moments. But George began to slowly let Percy back into his life.

Hermione and Ginny went out a few days a week together and oftentimes invited George to come along with them. George did this once or twice, but felt the public's eye on him as he walked the streets of Diagon Alley. It was like the entire world knew. It was like they could see his scars, even though he wore long shirts and crossed his arms frequently. But no matter how hard he tried, people still whispered. An old witch would whisper to her friend, "That's the Weasley, right? The one that lost his twin?" A couple of Hogwarts students who knew of Fred and George would widen their eyes and hold their breath around George. Sometimes younger children stared, and then were hurried away by their mothers. After a few afternoons out with the two girls, George retreated back to his room.

Though he didn't like going back to it, George still spent a great deal of time in his old room. Sometimes he would catch a glimpse in the mirror and feel tears stinging his eyes. He would go to bed early and wake up in the middle of the night, startled by a nightmare. He used to do this, but when he looked to his side, Fred would be in the bed next to him. Fred sometimes got up to comfort him, but George didn't always need him to. Just seeing his best friend, his other half, right next to him was a comfort.

"_Another nightmare, Georgie?"_

"_Not a big deal, not this time."_

"_Okay. Hey, guess what? I thought of another idea for our joke shop!"_

"_Really? What is it?"_

"_They're called Puking Pasties. Something you eat to make you sick, so you can get out of class."_

"_Brilliant, Freddie! No one will buy from us, though. We're only second-years."_

"_Well, we have lots of time! Just imagine when we're in our seventh year."_

"_I can't even picture that!"_

"_Sure you can! And think about all the years we'll have after that! These pasties are just the beginning, George."_

"_What about a product to make you faint? You know, you can still get out of class, but it'll be less gross."_

"_I love it. You need to start writing these down."_

"_Me? How come I have to?"_

"_Because I'm the thinker!"_

"_I am too, Fred!"_

"_Plus, I'm the more handsome one."_

"_Well, you're wrong about that one."_

"_Whatever. I'm going back to bed. Don't have any more bad dreams, okay?"_

"_Okay."_

"_Night, Georgie."_

George never realized how lucky he was to have those nightmares. Every bad dream he had, he would wake up and get just a few more moments with Fred. He never realized it at the time. He never even thought about it. He just rolled over and fell asleep within minutes.

"George?" A knock on the door interrupted George's thoughts. It was his father. "George, I was wondering if you'd like to come down to the ministry with me?"

George opened his door and eyed his dad. Arthur stood in his old work robes. It was strange seeing him in such normal clothes after everything that had happened. "Why?"

"Come on, George. Just to get you out of the house. It's pretty crowded, seeing as Charlie and Bill just arrived a few moments ago. Come to work with me, it'll clear your mind."

George didn't move. He just stayed behind the door. His dad stepped closer and put a hand on George's shoulder.

"Come with me, George." He spoke like a true father. A stern but kind voice, a look in his eyes that told George he had no choice but to join him.

"This isn't an offer, is it? This is an order?" George asked, knowing the answer. His dad just smiled softly and shook his head.

"See you downstairs in five, all right?" He said, taking his hand away from George and heading downstairs. George sighed and shut the door. He pulled on a blazer and jeans, attempting to look nice. He still felt sluggish. He unwillingly trudged down the stairs and saw Percy in the kitchen.

"Hello, George," Percy said politely. It had been months since their last argument—a record for the two of them. Charlie sat next to him, reading the paper.

"Going to work with Dad today?" Charlie asked, looking up from the paper.

"Dad wants me to," George said defiantly. He saw Charlie's gaze flicker down to George's shirt. George looked down and realized how much the shirt underneath his blazer gaped. Underneath was a flat, pale stomach that looked as if it hadn't been fed in years. When Charlie looked back up, George caught his eye and reluctantly pulled an apple from the bowl on the counter.

"I'll see you when we get back, all right?" George said and turned on his heel. He followed his father, who was waiting by the front door.

"I'll see you later, all right dearest?" Arthur kissed Molly on the cheek and put on his hat. He waved to the family. George looked over his shoulder. From the outside, the Burrow looked perfect. It was filled with people. Molly was cooking and cleaning as usual. It was its usual bustling self.

Only from the inside could you tell that it was completely wrong. It was only filled with people because they were meant to keep an eye on George, who, they were convinced, attempted suicide. Molly was cooking and cleaning as a way to take her mind off of her breaking family. It was bustling because there were constant arguments, and though they were for the most part resolved, the tension still hung in the air for days afterwards.

"Ready, George?" Arthur asked, and held out his hand.

"I can apparate on my own, Dad," George said instantly, but regretted it. Arthur's shoulders dropped slightly, as though he had been hurt—George bit his lip and took his father's arm without further argument.

The next second, they were at the ministry. George hung onto his father's arm, still a little dizzy from the trip. The ministry was bustling with workers, sashaying past in professional robes. Arthur put a protective arm around George and drew his son closer, as he used to do when George was little.

"Morning, Arthur!" A bald wizard said cheerfully as he passed the two. Arthur tipped his hat and began to walk.

"Been a while since you've been here, hasn't it, George?" Arthur asked, waving every so often at a passing witch or wizard. "I remember taking you here once when you were just a boy!" George stared up at the large glass ceiling. Puffs of green smoke and fire erupted around him as workers came through the Floo network. It was as if the ministry had never changed at all.

"There he is," Arthur said to himself, raising an arm. George squinted to see who his father was talking about. Kingsley, the new prime minister of magic, stood at the end of the hall. He was talking to a tall, frail witch who was clutching a stack of papers in her hands. Kingsley spotted Arthur, put a hand on the witch's shoulder, and excused himself.

"How are you, Arthur?" He asked in a deep voice with a trace of concern. Both Arthur and George were used to that voice by now.

"All right, and you?" Arthur said quickly, leading the conversation away from himself. Kingsley smiled and drew Dean Thomas, George's fellow student at Hogwarts, close to him.

"Just showing Dean around here." Dean nodded eagerly.

"Looking for jobs at the ministry, are you?" Arthur said approvingly. Dean smiled.

"I am. Not for this year, but perhaps after I finish up Hogwarts," Dean said. "It's truly bizarre, isn't it? I mean, after one last year, we'll be out on our own." Dean paused. "Are Harry, Ron, and Hermione coming back?"

"Oh, I think they will," Arthur said confidently, clapping Dean on the shoulder. Dean seemed to suddenly notice George, and his eyes widened.

"How are you, George?" He asked. His voice was too high-pitched to seem casual. George looked at his father, almost hoping that Arthur would answer for him. But Arthur just tightened his grip on George's shoulder, and George knew he had to fend for himself on this one.

"I'm fine, Dean." His standard answer. Dean nodded, knowing not to ask anymore. Luckily, Kingsley chose that moment to speak up.

"Coming to work with your dad today?" He asked, smiling kindly at George. George nodded, but Arthur nudged him slightly.

"Yes, I am," George said reluctantly, knowing his father wanted more from him. He felt Arthur wilt slightly at his side, and George felt a pang of anger. _What did he expect?_ George thought bitterly. _How cheerful does he want me to be?_ But Kingsley didn't seem to notice the thick tension between George and his father.

"Good for you. Well, I best be off," He said glancing at the large clock at the center of the hall. He waved to George and Arthur, but before he could get anywhere, a lost-looking witch stumbled. The stack of documents floating by her side crashed to the floor, flying everywhere.

"I'm so sorry, sir," She squeaked, bending down to pick them up. She was a fragile woman with wide eyes. Kingsley laughed and waved it off.

"I'll help you," George offered and stooped down to pick up the papers. As he bent forward, the sleeve of his blazer caught on the crook of his knee, and his wrist slipped forward. George quickly pulled the sleeve down, but it was too late. The witch gasped.

"You're George, aren't you? Arthur's son?"

George felt color rising to his cheeks. He focused on the papers on the ground. He was aware of how quiet it had become; he felt Dean's eyes burning into the back of his head.

_Damn cuts!_ He thought to himself. _Why the hell did I do that?_

"I can help you with that," Kingsley said softly. He waved his wand, and the papers flew again to a neat pile. George stood slowly, trying to steady his breathing. Dean, Kingsley, and Arthur were completely silent; George believed that nothing could make the situation worse, until the witch started to talk.

"George," The witch began in a reassuring voice, "A friend of mine lost her son in the battle."

"Violet…" Arthur said warningly, but the witch didn't stop.

"If you ever need anyone to talk to…"

"I don't." George said sharply, cutting her off.

"Yes, but if you need someone who knows what your family is going through…"

"I don't!" George repeated, raising his voice. The words echoed around the large lobby, and the workers slowed down. The conversations nearby came to a halt. The busy workplace had, in an instant, come to an uncomfortable, watchful silence. The witch widened her eyes and clutched her papers tightly to her chest.

"I'm so sorry, Arthur," She apologized, and scurried down the sleek corridor. The workers continued to watch the cluster with a look of pity.

Dean, Kingsley, and Arthur stood staring at George, who kept his eyes on the sleek tile floor. When he turned around, he stole a glance at Dean and noticed that the boy was looking at George's left arm. George turned his arm in towards his body and faced his dad.

"I'm ready to go now," He said softly.

"George…"

"I'm ready to go." He said firmly. Arthur took a deep breath, knowing that it was pointless to argue.

"I'll be back," He said under his breath to Kingsley.

As Arthur and George walked away, George could catch bits of Kingsley and Dean talking.

"Did you see his arm…?"

"Dean, this time has been very difficult for the family. I'm sure he's having a rough time."

"Yeah, but…George…he was always so…" Dean never found a word. He and the prime minister walked in silence. Or maybe George had just stopped listening. Arthur never spoke to George on the way back to the grand entrance. Perhaps he had nothing to say. Perhaps he had lots to say, but he held back. George never knew anymore. He just wanted to get home. The past few months had been nothing but these moments, these horrid, awkward moments.

Arthur held out his arm wordlessly, and seconds later, they stood at the Burrow. Arthur paused before walking any further.

"I'm sorry, George. I shouldn't have brought you there. It's too soon."

George shrugged. "You going back?"

"I suppose I'll have to," Arthur sighed. "Unless…do you want me to stay home with you?"

"No," George said instantly. Arthur nodded, looking hurt. It wasn't as if he hadn't been expecting the answer, but he still longed for the days that his sons needed him when they were upset. Whether they'd gotten made fun of in school, or scraped their elbow and gotten a cut. They used to beg to come with him to work. Arthur felt special in their young, twinkling eyes.

And now George's eyes were hollow and sad. Nothing killed Arthur more than to look into those eyes every morning, at every breakfast. Every time walked past George's room. Sometimes Arthur wondered if George even noticed him as he passed him on the stairs; he just moved, ghost-like, to his room. In his own world.

George began to walk back to the Burrow. When he turned around to steal a glance at his father, Arthur was gone. George opened the door quietly, hoping that no one would notice him. He hated to imagine their disappointed looks, their shoulders falling with lost hope.

However, George walked into the kitchen to find the entire family crowded around the table. Bill, Fleur, Percy, Charlie, Hermione, Ginny, Ron…George fought his way to the crowded kitchen and noticed that his sister was beaming. George followed her eyes and gasped.

Harry stood at the end of the table, wearing an old t-shirt. There were trunks by his feet. Hermione stood inches from him, on the verge of tears.

"Hi, George."

Fred was right. It all comes down to Harry.


	15. A Memory

**New Chapter! Sorry it's a bit short, but I hope you still like it. I just wanted to say thanks again to everyone reading and reviewing-you're the best! Let me know what you think of this chapter, and I'll have the next one up soon!  
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><p>A Memory<p>

_It was their seventh year. Fred and George crossed the long bridge outside Hogwarts. It seemed the only safe place they could talk without Umbridge breathing down their necks. Fred laughed and crossed his arms against the cold wind as George talked about his new idea for their shop._

"_Come off it, George," Fred said with a smile._

"_No, I'm serious! It will work! Just listen…" George silenced when he saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione just a few feet ahead of them as they rounded the corner. "Oi! Harry!" George called, raising his arm. He and Fred hurried towards the three._

"_You know when the next lesson will be? For the D.A.?" George asked, lowering his voice._

"_Not until everyone comes back from break. And even after that, I'm not sure when. Security's gotten pretty tight around here, hasn't it?" Harry said, glancing at Ron._

"_Really?" Fred said casually._

"_We hadn't noticed," George finished the sentence, and the Harry, Ron, and Hermione laughed._

"_We'll tell you guys as soon as we figure it out," Hermione said, her cheeks red from the cold. With that, Harry waved and the friends turned to head back to the castle. Fred and George hung back for a moment. George caught Fred's eye and smiled._

"_Things have certainly changed around here, haven't they?" George asked, looking longingly at the castle._

"_I suppose," Fred said, but he was looking at his brother. "But hey, we've changed a lot too, haven't we?" George just smiled. He punched Fred lightly on the arm, and the two began walking._

"_The whole 'Harry Potter-is-the-most-popular-being-on-this-planet' thing has certainly changed," George grinned. "By the way everyone's talking about him, I mean."_

"_Even Percy sent Ron a letter telling him not to be friends with Harry. Can you believe that? Ron and Harry! Best friends!"_

"_Well, Percy's a prat."_

"_I guess so," Fred laughed. "I only wish he'd come home so Mum would stop crying."_

"_Oh, he will. I mean, he has to…right? One day he'll come to his senses and stop being such a…"_

"_Git?" Fred offered, then shrugged. "Come on. I don't think I'll live to see the day that Percy finally comes to his senses. Do you think he's lost the ability to smile?"_

"_You never know," George shrugged, grinning at his brother._

"_Hey, listen," Fred said, changing the subject. "Want to work more on our shop tonight?"_

"_Oh, Freddie," George groaned, clasping a gloved hand over his eyes. "We were up until four in the morning! I'm so tired!"_

"_I know, I am too, but we're almost there!" Fred said excitedly, tugging George's arm away from his eyes. George couldn't help but laugh. He looked up at the castle again, towering against a white, snowy backdrop. He lowered his eyes and looked at Fred standing next to him, whose cheeks were glowing and whose breath unfolded in a puff of white smoke in the cold air._

"_Won't you miss this place? Even a little bit?" George asked, slightly embarrassed._

_Fred paused before he spoke. "Of course I will, Georgie," He said simply, crossing his arms against the blistering wind._

"_I just…" George hesitated. "Things are really going to be different out in the world. We'll be completely different out there than we are in here, won't we?"_

_Fred looked sharply at his brother, suddenly realizing what he was saying._

"_George. Things are never going to change with us…all right?" Fred said slowly, surveying his brother. George didn't meet his eyes. _

"_We're gonna have our joke shop, and everything will be fine. I promise. Nothing's going to change. Well, it will," Fred shrugged, following George's gaze to the castle, "but for the better. I know it."_

"_Oh, you know?" George asked. He rested his elbow on the railing of the bridge and grinned at Fred. "You know this for a fact?"_

"_Yes," Fred said, matter-of-factly. "I always was the smarter twin."_

"_Hah." George laughed loudly._

"_What? You want the smarts, too? You always say that you're the better looking one!"_

"_I'm both. You've got…everything else." George grinned. Fred laughed._

"_You're a prat."_

"_Nope, that's you. I told you, you have everything besides the looks and the smarts."_

_Fred and George laughed at their insults all the way to the castle, until they found nothing bad to say. They trudged through ankle-deep snow, occasionally pushing each other in the hopes that one would topple over and fall._

_One month later, Fred and George left Hogwarts in a sea of exploding fireworks, rising from the cheers of the entire school._

_Three months later, their shop opened. _

_One year later, the war began. _

_Two years later, Fred and George flew to Hogwarts with the rest of the Order when they heard that Harry was back._

_Three years later, George sat alone on the spiral staircase, crying into the open space._


	16. Trust

**Here is chapter 16! I hope I'm still updating often enough, I'm doing my best :) Thanks for sticking with this for so long-I hope you enjoy it!**

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><p>Trust<p>

"Hi, George."

George couldn't speak. He just stared at Harry. Harry looked the same as always—messy hair, crooked smile, and slightly disheveled.

"Hi, Harry," George finally found his voice, but no one seemed to notice; Molly and Ginny were already talking animatedly to Harry, each raising their voice louder and louder to be heard. Hermione was absolutely beaming, clutching Harry's arm, letting her smile and tight grip speak for themselves. Only Ron hung back, and George saw the two friends exchange a short look. Ron looked as if he wanted to say something, but was quickly blocked by Bill, who clapped Harry on the back.

"Can I get you anything to eat, Harry dear?" Molly asked excitedly. George sadly watched his mother, busying herself once again with pots and pans. He caught Bill's eye and knew that he was thinking the same thing.

"Oh, it's _so _good to see you again," Hermione beamed, finally squeezing herself in between Harry and Ginny, throwing her arms around him. "You're back to stay, right?"

"If you'll have me back," Harry said sheepishly. Mrs. Weasley waved it away.

"Of course, dear! You're part of the family!"

George noticed Ron freeze for a moment, but Hermione moved close to him and he let out a deep breath.

"Let it go, Ron…" She warned under her breath.

"Don't you see what I was saying?"

"I know, but…" The two trailed off, coming to an uncomfortable understanding.

"So tell us, Harry," Bill said, pulling out a chair, "Where have you been these past few months?"

"Around," Harry shrugged.

"That's helpful," George chipped in, smiling slightly. Harry laughed.

"I just had some things to take care of. To think about. I visited Tonks' house."

"How are her parents?" Molly asked sympathetically.

As Harry shared his story and the Weasleys gathered around him, Ron broke off and faced George. He grabbed his arm and led him a few feet from the table.

"Aren't you supposed to be at the ministry? With Dad?" Ron asked suspiciously, eyeing his brother. George's heart sank at the memory of what had transpired just moments ago. The memory of Dean freezing in shock; of the ministry silently waiting for George's reaction. The "poor Weasley twin" was now how he was known. The memory of his father walking away from George, head down and shoulders slumped.

"I came back," George said simply, and then excused himself. Ron knew not to ask any more questions, but watched George slip out the front door silently. The family was still busy with Harry, too distracted to notice George.

George stood just outside the Burrow for a moment and crossed his arms. It was cold outside now, and George could see his breath. He listened to the muffled sound of commotion from inside the house as he stared out on the lonely path away from the Burrow. Sometimes he found himself just wishing Fred could be there. He wasn't angry or desperate; he just wished his twin were there. George shivered and pulled down his sleeves, feeling the familiar mark of his scars. George shut his eyes tightly, knowing what he had to do. Knowing where he had to go. With a quick glance behind him, George made sure that no one was watching; he listened through the door to the chatter of his family, and when he was positive that he was alone, he disappeared.

The mansion. The ivy. The long, winding path to the crooked front door. The voice in George's head started. This time, Slate wasn't just outside, waiting for George. George started up the path, nervously checking around him. No one seemed to be there.

"Hello?" He called into the house, pushing open the door. "Is anyone here?"

Silence. George continued to walk cautiously through the house and lit his wand; he was suddenly aware of how little light there was. His footsteps echoed through the creaky halls. He was entirely alone.

"Lumos maxima," George whispered as he entered the kitchen, and every corner was filled with soft light. George turned slowly where he was standing, inspecting the bottom floor of the house. The table and chairs in the kitchen were turned over; the sofa in the living room was ripped. The roof was leaking something thick and black, but George dared not touch it or look closely to see what it was.

George gasped sharply as something scurried across his foot. He heard squeaks becoming further away and tried to spot whatever mouse or rat had just run through the kitchen. As he looked, George caught sight of a note buried under some rubble in the kitchen. He carefully stooped to pick it up and realized that his breaths were shaky and rattling.

_We know that Harry is back. Bring him to the Shrieking Shack, just outside the village. Our magic has been found out; the sooner you bring him, the sooner we can get Fred back. We're trusting you, George._

It wasn't signed. George shook his head and bit his lip. "This is mad," He whispered to himself. This wasn't right. He knew this wasn't right. He crumpled the note into a ball and, with shaking hands, stuffed it into his pocket. He turned a few times in place, lost.

"I remember this feeling." George jumped and shouted with surprise. The silky voice of Romera slithered down the stairs and surrounded George.

"R—Romera," He gasped, trying to catch his breath. The woman glided down the stairs, smiling sadly.

"I remember this feeling," She repeated, tracing the railing with delicate hands. "When I lost my sister. My poor, baby sister. I can still hear her sometimes," Romera smiled slightly. "Can you still hear Fred?"

"What was her name?" George asked fearfully, ignoring her question. He felt a sharp pain in his chest whenever she said the name. He himself hadn't Fred's name the entire year.

"Emilia," Romera said quietly, turning her large eyes to look at George. "That was her name. We were best friends. You know what that's like."

"Why didn't he bring her back? Slate, why didn't he bring her back for you?" George asked, backing away from Romera, inching closer to the door. He was afraid of her answer.

"It's not that simple, George," Romera said, slinking closer to George. "It's actually very complicated."

"Why? What's complicated about it?"

"He came to me, just as he came to you. Asked for my help. Said he could bring her, but only if I joined him."

"And?" George's voice shook.

"And I couldn't," Romera said simply. "I couldn't help him, so he couldn't help me."

"Why'd you stay?" George asked, but it came out as more of a statement. He was all too aware that Romera was now inches away from him.

"I had no choice," She whispered. "Slate is a powerful man. You're too far in, George. You've already made your promises, just like I once made mine."

"I want out," George's voice cracked. "I don't think I can do this."

"You have to," Romera said. "Or else you're looking at your future," She smiled, gesturing to the broken house. George shook his head fervently.

"No. I can't do this, this isn't happening." George's voice cracked as Romera circled George and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Relax," Romera said. "Slate already likes you, I can tell. At least, he likes you more than the others."

"Others?" George felt as if he might vomit.

"Did I say others?" Romera smiled.

"Who?" George begged, "Who are the others?"

"It's all very simple, like I told you," Romera shrugged coyly and ignored his question. "Keep your promise. You'll get your brother back. You'll go home. Back to your normal life. All you have to do is bring Harry Potter. All you have to do is get the Wand. Can't you do that, Georgie? Can't you do that for him?" George stood, transfixed, with Romera's lips inches from his ear.

"I can do it," He whispered weakly. He felt Romera smile and slither away from him.

"I know you can," She smiled. "I've got to go now, sweetheart," She began to back away, towards the stairs. "Take as long as you need. Make up some story, and get him here. He'll be willing to help once he's here, of course. Do for Fred what I never could do for Emilia."

George just watched her.

"See you soon," Romera smirked, and disappeared. George steadied himself against the door to the house, shaking violently. He was suddenly overwhelmed with Fred's voice—the night before they went to Hogwarts.

"_I'm excited, Georgie. It all starts tomorrow!"_

"_Me too! I wonder what house we'll be in."_

"_Gryffindor, of course."_

"_What makes you so sure?"_

"_I mean, what else is there? Ravenclaw? I don't think we'll quite fit in. Nor Hufflepuff, I hear they're a bunch of goody-goodies."_

"_Hah! That's not us, Freddie. And Slytherin?"_

"_Of course not! We're much better than that. Trust me, it'll be Gryffindor."_

As the destroyed room spun, George closed his eyes and wished for Fred. He wanted that confidence back; that confidence that Fred had. Fred believed everything he said. Fred had an answer for every situation that he and George got into. They gave each other strength, and now that George was alone, he felt weak. Helpless.

Of course, if Fred was here, George wouldn't be in this situation. He'd probably be back at the shop, showing around first-years. Verity would be managing the storage room in the back, across the bustling first floor. From the top of the stairs, Fred would catch George's eye and grin at him. Sometimes the twins couldn't believe that they had done it—that they had become everything they wanted to be. It was too good to be true.

It really was.

After a moment, grabbed the brass handle with sweaty hands—and the next second, he was running. He ran past the ivy covered walls, down the dirt path, to the gates of the mansion. He didn't look back at the house before disapparating.

Moments later, George appeared in front of the Burrow. He had distanced himself slightly, choosing to appear by the small pond just outside the house. It was evening now—his father was sure to be home from work, and everyone must have noticed he had gone. But George stayed where he was, hidden in the tall grass. He stared at the unmoving water, still breathing heavily. He felt sick. He just wanted to curl up, to forget about what was happening. He wished he had never followed Slate that rainy night. He wished Romera had never touched him with those long, slender hands. He wished for a lot of things, but at that moment, sitting by the pond, all George wished for was a hug.

_How pathetic, _George thought to himself. _A hug._ But he couldn't stop thinking about it. His mother's arms closing around him when he had scraped himself as a child. His father lifting him in the air when he came home from a long day at the ministry. Bill and Charlie saying good-bye before they left for Hogwarts.

Mostly, though, George thought of Fred's embrace. It was something that only the two of them could understand. It didn't happen very often—the two boys spent the majority of their time laughing. Being the jokers. Surrounded by fellow students, admired. In fact, neither twin showed much emotion other than their shared happiness. But when Fred occasionally pulled George in, they both felt safe. It was after George had gotten injured in a Quidditch match, or Fred had come to the common room after a long, painful detention. After Umbridge had forced them to write lines, and George across the room at Fred, who was clenching his fist in pain. The first night they closed up their shop, Fred pulled George in with a grin from ear to ear.

George remembered the night he had lost his ear. He had laughed at Fred, who had almost cried that night.

"_You c—could have died!"_

"_Come on, Freddie, pull yourself together! I didn't die!"_

"_I know, but—but when I came to the house, and asked about you—there was this awful silence, and I just…"_

"_Fred. Listen. I'm fine, okay?"_

"_I know, but…"_

"_Fred, we're fine! It's just an ear, after all. It could have been worse."_

"_You made it worse by making that horrible joke about it."_

"_Hah! You only wish you had thought of it first. Admit it."_

Fred sat cross-legged in his bed, half-laughing and half-crying. George sat in his own bed, trying not to laugh too hard. Before long, the two shut off the light and went to sleep. Years later, outside that very bedroom, was the same pond that glistened in the night sky. Next to the pond sat George, transfixed in the light of the moon.

The only people he clung so desperately to now were those he trusted the least.


	17. Until the Pain Goes Away

**Here's chapter 17! Tell me what you think so far-I can't begin to say how happy I am that you're reading this! So, as always, reviews are amazing :) My next update will probably be next weekend, but it could be sooner. Enjoy!**

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><p>Until the Pain Goes Away<p>

For the second time that day, George tried to slip quietly into his house. He shut the door with extreme caution and turned around to face the kitchen slowly. He braced himself for his mother, who would throw herself at him with tears in her eyes. He winced at the thought of Bill and Fleur looking sympathetically down at him; Bill and Fleur, with the stable, perfect life. He thought of Ginny—his strong, brave little sister who now spent her days worried sick about her big brother instead of basking in the summer's glow with Harry.

However, when George entered the kitchen, no one was there to greet him. The house was quiet; footsteps clattered above his head, and George thought that he could make out Ginny and Harry's voices.

"I told them you'd gone to your room," A voice said quietly, and George jumped. "I told them not to bother you." Ron stood behind George, his face white.

"Thanks," George nodded. The brothers were quiet for a moment. "I was just…" George gestured outside, not sure what to say next. His hand fell to his side and George opened his mouth, but no words came out. To his relief, Ron just shrugged.

"It's okay. I know." At that moment, George had never loved Ron so much. Ron stood by the stairs in his short pajama pants and an oversized t-shirt. His hair was messy and his eyes had bags underneath them.

"What time is it?"

"A little past midnight," Ron answered, glancing at the kitchen clock. Ever since the battle, the familiar clock with the family's faces on each hand had disappeared. No one quiet knew what happened to it and no one asked. One day it was there, and the next, all that remained were a few broken shards of glass. George suspected that Molly had done it. He could picture it as he stared at the empty spot; a distressed Molly, sobbing as she shattered the mirror and got rid of any remains that she could. Casting away the arrows that held each of the family's faces. George nodded again at his brother, looking down at his shoes.

"So Harry's back," He said nervously. He felt Ron stiffen.

"Yeah, he is."

"Are you two…" George trailed off.

"I dunno, George," Ron sighed. He wasn't angry anymore, George could tell; he was just tired. He looked so lost, so helpless. Ron rubbed his bloodshot eyes and ran a hand through his flaming hair.

"Everything's so different now. Going through that…it can really change you, I guess."

"But it's you and Harry," George smiled at his brother. "You've been through a lot together."

"You can say that again," Ron laughed. "It's my fault, anyways. That Harry's mad at me. I haven't been handling things very well, I suppose. I don't act like I used to."

"You're not the only one," George gave a sad smile. He saw Ron's eyes flicker down to his arm, and then immediately back up to his face.

"It'll just take some time. That's what Hermione is always saying."

"She's a smart one," George said, and then paused. "Some time for what?" He asked desperately, still hoping for some sort of answer. An answer without any tricks behind it—without a crooked smile or a jagged scar.

"Time for things to go back to normal," Ron said simply. He glanced upstairs. "I'm going to go back to bed. You all right?"

"I'm fine," George said automatically. The same two words he had been uttering for the past months. "Thanks, though," He added softly. He felt Ron's large hand on his shoulder for half a second, and then Ron turned and disappeared up the steep staircase.

George, deprived of all strength, stumbled to the living room and collapsed on the couch. During the night, the Burrow finally slept. With Harry back, Ginny no longer worried about losing another friend. Molly curled up next to her husband, happy to have her children back under her roof. Ron snored peacefully; he would deny it if anyone asked, but George knew it was because Harry was back. Hermione had a small smile on her lips as she lay down that night, knowing that the trio was once again reunited.

These small glimmers of hope were now what kept the family alive. Harry didn't know it, but he had just saved them from another night of terror and hopelessness.

* * *

><p>George woke up the next day to the smell of breakfast. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes and turned his head. The couch. The living room. The Burrow. After piecing it together, George got up and stretched.<p>

Molly suddenly whisked into the room; George suspected that she had been waiting for him to wake up.

"Spot of breakfast?" Molly asked hopefully, as she did every morning. And as George did every morning, he nodded and sat with her. As he made his way to the table, he saw Ginny sitting with Harry, talking excitedly. Her hair was tangled and her eyes tired, but she lit the room with her radiant smile. Ron and Hermione were absent from the table, and where Ron usually sat, Arthur glanced up at George from his paper. George avoided his father's eyes—the pain of the incident at the ministry was still sharp.

"George…" Arthur began, setting down the paper. But as soon as he opened his mouth, George put down his fork and spoke.

"What're you up to today, Harry?" Harry looked away from Ginny and shrugged. "Going out with Hermione, I suppose. She's buying her books for school."

"Oh, has she decided to go back?" George asked casually, straining to keep the conversation going—he could feel his father's eyes on him. Harry nodded.

"Of course," He grinned. "Missing an entire year of school? Hermione wouldn't dare."

"No? She always struck me as sort of a slacker; do you know what I mean?" George said sarcastically, and Harry let out a loud laugh. "What about you, Harry? You going back?"

Harry pushed his sausage around his plate for a moment before answering. "I don't know," He said truthfully. "I've been thinking a lot about it. I just don't know how I'll feel being back there after everything. Like…" Harry struggled for a moment. "Like maybe that part of my life is over."

Suddenly, there was nothing left to say. George, of course, understood completely. He knew that Harry was imagining walking through the Great Hall, and instead of seeing grand tables filled with food, he would see bodies scattered throughout the rubble. Instead of remembering the times with friends, Harry would remember walking to his death, out the castle doors and into the forest. George understood. George couldn't even close his eyes without seeing the castle; but not like it used to be. He closed his eyes and was running, running, running down the corridors. He closed his eyes and he was falling to his knees, screaming. He closed his eyes and he saw death.

"Hello, Harry! Are you ready to leave?" Hermione practically flew down the flight of stairs, positively glowing. She had a book bag slung over her shoulder and ran a hand through her messy hair.

"Jeez, Hermione, is that list just for books alone?" Harry asked, eyeing the long piece of paper that trailed well behind Hermione. She nodded energetically, oblivious to Harry's unenthused grimace.

"Just wrote it up this morning. And if I forget anything—"

"Don't think that'll be very likely," George muttered, and Harry risked a quick smile at him.

"—If I forget anything, we can always go back tomorrow. Oh, please, Harry, will you come back to school? If you do, then perhaps Ron will, and—"

"Ron still hasn't decided?" Harry asked, suddenly alert.

"You didn't know that?" Hermione's eyebrows furrowed.

"I've been gone, haven't I? Well if he's not going back, then…" Harry trailed off. "I don't know, Hermione. Let's just go, then?" He asked after an awkward pause. The table was watching him closely. Harry stood up and waved his dishes away to the sink, turning red, and headed out the door with Hermione. Hermione rolled her eyes slightly, and George heard them bickering as they strolled down the path.

"If you just _talked_ to him, Harry…"

"I don't have anything to say! He's the one that should be talking!"

"Honestly, you two…"

George shook his head and put down his fork. He forced himself to face his father, who watched him doubtfully. George sighed loudly and crossed his arms.

"Say what you have to say, Dad," He said crossly. "Come on. What is it? You've been looking at me like that this entire morning. So just say it."

Arthur set down the paper and sighed.

"Arthur…" Molly warned, putting a hand on his wrist. Arthur waved her away, eyes fixed on his son.

"George, I'm worried about you. We all are. And we only worry because we love you."

"You know, I changed my mind. I don't want to hear it." George pushed away his chair and stood up quickly—but Arthur was quicker.

"You _listen _to me, George!" He shouted, also leaping up from his seat. Molly bounded to her feet, on the verge of tears, with the familiar look of fear and hopelessness.

"Arthur, please," She begged, her voice trembling. "Just sit down, please…"

"I'm sorry that the ministry went like that. I am. But I still think that it's a good idea for you to come outside of the house and get some air. And I'm not talking about you going off to God knows where and leaving us all worried sick. I'm talking about coming out to work with me. Going to Diagon Alley one day with Hermione and Ginny. Visiting Bill and Fleur up at their cottage. George, something's _got_ to change!"

"You think I'm not trying? You think that I _like_ being like this? You're right, Dad, this is exactly what I want. Staying in my room, only to have people stare at me like I'm some freak when I leave the house. Spot on."

"George, I'm just saying this because I love you. It's almost been a year, and you are still completely disconnected from everything around you. You haven't even picked up a paper all year. I want to help you, please, let me help you!"

"A YEAR? You think that everything will go away just because it's been a _fucking_ YEAR?"

"I didn't say that, George," His father said weakly. The two stopped, both glaring at each other, when George suddenly shouted and grabbed his arm. The scars were once again scorching. George sank to the floor, knuckles turning white. Immediately, Arthur was at George's side, gripping his shoulders, speaking quickly and quietly.

"It's all right, George, shhh…" He murmured as George cried out, nails digging into his arm. "The pain will go away, I promise…"

George just grinded his teeth and shook his head. The pain was overwhelming. He bent forward in agony, trying to suppress his screams.

Molly stood in her spot, frozen, tears spilling down her cheeks. Her husband rocked George back and forth, arms slung protectively around George's shoulders. Eventually, the pain slowed down. George gulped back cries, still shaking. Once the pain stopped completely, he and Arthur stayed on the kitchen floor for a moment. Color rising to George's cheeks, he finally spoke.

"I'm sorry, Dad." He said, returning to his familiar feeling of hating himself. "I didn't mean what I said."

"No, George," Arthur said almost inaudibly. "It's my fault. I was upset, and I didn't know how to handle it. I don't expect your pain to go away yet. But until it does, I just want you to know that your family is here for you." Arthur pulled George closer, but all George felt was Fred.

"_Freddie…Freddie, wake up!"_

"_What happened?"_

"_You fell off your broom. Gave us quite a scare!"_

"_And the game?"_

"_What does it matter?"_

"_Come on, George."_

"_Okay, fine. We lost. But I don't care."_

"_Don't care? Are you mad? This was a huge game! We could have gotten a chance at the cup for this game!"_

"_Yeah, but Fred! You should have seen how you fell—even Dumbledore looked worried. All the teachers were scared. We thought you were going to die!"_

"_You did not."_

"_Okay, fine. We didn't think you were going to die. But it was still really, really bad. So I left, and they kept playing."_

"_What? George—"_

"_And that's why I couldn't care less about some Quidditch game. Besides, it's not fun without you."_

"_Come on."_

"_I'm serious! Now let's see your arm. Pomfrey warned me not to do anything, but I bet I can help you."_

"_Ow! It hurts when you touch it!"_

"_It does not."_

"_Okay, fine. It's actually feeling a little better. Thanks, Georgie."_

"_For what? I haven't even tried out the spell yet!"_

"_No, I mean for…for everything else."_

"_It just wasn't the same without you."_

And George had pulled Fred up from the bed for a quick hug, an awkward hug between two twelve-year-old twins, and let go as the rest of the Quidditch team traipsed into the infirmary.

And now, as George's father tried to pull him closer, George felt suffocated.

"Sorry, Dad," He whispered again. "But I don't think the pain will ever go away." With those words, George shot up from the kitchen floor where he had collapsed. He didn't look back at his parents—he couldn't bear to see their crumpled faces. Just when things were getting better, George had to ruin it. As he reached the stairs, he saw Ginny and Ron standing at the top. Blushing furiously, tears brimming in his eyes, George knew that they had watched the entire thing. They moved silently aside, knowing that George wasn't going to talk. He pushed past them and slammed the door to his room.

George listened quietly as Ginny and Ron continued downstairs. He then heard whispers, but couldn't make out any of the conversation. With another pang in his arm, George thought again of Slate. Romera. Dex. Their promise to help him find Fred, and the promise of pain if he didn't help them.

George didn't know what to do anymore—he just knew that he needed Harry.

Because Harry was his last hope.


	18. Please Believe Me

**Hi guys! Sorry it's been a while since I've updated! Enjoy the next chapter, and, as always, tell me what you think :) Thanks!**

Please Believe Me

George stayed in his room for the most of that day. Every time he heard voices on the path outside the burrow, he rushed to his window in the hopes that Harry would be arriving. The first time, it was Percy and Charlie, both looking somber. They must have been told what had happened at breakfast, or perhaps were coming to cheer Molly up. The second time, it was Bill and Fleur, as they usually came when something went wrong. The third time, George barely had the strength to get up. Mostly he had been lying on his bed, tracing his long, jagged scars with his fingertips. But after a moment, he heard Hermione's shrill voice.

"This book is supposed to be simply _amazing_, I just can't wait to read it."

"Is that one even for school?" Harry asked. George's eyes snapped open and he sat up quickly.

"No, but I've heard amazing things about it. I think I'll start reading it tonight; you know, just to start catching up."

George heard the door open and the two greeted the rest of the family. The first pair of feet on the stairs was Hermione's—no doubt rushing to her room to begin reading her book. Shortly after that, George heard Harry. He took a deep breath. George rested his hand on the doorknob, considering what he was about to ask Harry to do. He remembered Dex's crooked smile and cruel laugh. He thought of Slate's scar, almost as mysterious as the man himself was. George considered retreating back to his bed, but finally thought of Romera; Romera, who had lost a sister. Who said that those who didn't help Slate were in trouble.

_I just need the wand, _George thought fiercely. _I don't need Harry. I mean, I do need him, but just for the wand. They're not going to hurt him. They're just going to get Fred back._

"Harry," George said breathlessly, tearing the door open before he could stop himself. Harry jumped, startled.

"Hi, George," He said uncertainly. "What's up?"

"I was wondering if you'd like to talk. I just have some questions about something, and I need your help."

"Sure, George," Harry said doubtfully. His eyes narrowed in confusion. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, actually. Things are going a lot better."

_A lie? _George thought to himself. _This is how you're going to do it?_

"Brilliant," Harry smiled, stepping hesitantly into George's room. "So…what's up?"

"It's just that I've been doing a lot of thinking," George said, walking to the window and looking outside. Flowers were blooming rapidly, thanks to all the time that Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were spending in the garden. "I think that I want to re-open the shop."

_More lies. Brilliant._

"It's almost been a year, and I figure that now is as good a time as any."

"George, that's brilliant!" George stole a glance at Harry and immediately felt a swoop in his stomach. Harry was beaming at him, genuinely excited. _What the hell am I doing? _George thought to himself, watching Harry smile hopefully at him.

"When were you thinking of doing it?"

It took George a moment to respond; he was still at war with himself, at war with the voice in the back of his head.

_If I don't do this, I could be putting everyone in danger,_ George tried to convince himself. _What if they come after my family? After all, they don't need Harry, just the wand. They're not going to hurt him. _Still doubtful, George tried from a different angle. _If this works, everyone will be okay, and I'll get Fred back. And everything can finally go back to normal. No more of these bloody arguments, no more walking past mum's room and hearing her cry every night. Everything will be fine._

"George?" Harry's voice brought George back to reality.

"Er…soon," George said weakly. "Maybe this week, or something."

"That's great, George, really. And if you need a hand, just…just let me know," Harry said, but George could tell that he didn't believe him. There was an awkward silence, and Harry turned to walk out of the room.

"I do," George blurted before the voice could protest again. "I do need some help with it. That's why I wanted to talk to you, actually. I figured you could come to Hogsmeade with me, maybe give me a hand. You know, I've got orders to fill, and products to finish…" George stopped abruptly. He had never even thought about reopening the shop, and was painfully reminded of everything he used to do with Fred. Spending long nights filling out paperwork, working on new products until the sun came up. But it was all worth it when they arrived at the shop the next day.

"You want…me?" Harry asked doubtfully. "I mean, I'd be glad to, sure, but what about your parents? Or Bill, or Ron?"

"No," George shook his head immediately. "I don't want to bring the family into this quite yet. It may bring back too many memories; do you know what I'm saying?" As George continued to talk, he found himself being convinced. "I don't want to mess up any chance of moving forward. And I think that bringing them to the shop…I just don't think their ready." Proud of himself for such a compelling argument, George relaxed his shoulders slightly while Harry took in the information.

"Yeah—yeah, of course I'll help." Harry nodded, but George could have sworn there was a glimmer of doubt in his eyes. "Just let me know what you need, all right?"

"Thanks, Harry. Believe me; you're doing me a huge favor. Believe me," George repeated.

Harry didn't respond, but smiled once more and nodded. After another awkward silence, Harry gave a half-hearted thumbs-up and scurried out of the room. George watched him go and silently shut the door behind him, resting his head on the wood.

_I'm doing this for everyone, _George told himself. _For Mum and Dad, for Ginny, for everybody. I know what I'm getting into. And if things start to go wrong, I'll just get out of there. We both will. Harry can definitely handle himself, and we'll be fine. We'll be safe._

"Please believe me," George whispered, but he wasn't quite sure who he was talking to anymore.

* * *

><p>The next day, George woke with a knot already in his stomach. Unlike other mornings, it didn't take a few moments to register where he was and what he had to do. Today, he knew. He knew that he had asked Harry to help him open up his shop again. He knew that if he didn't, something bad was going to happen; not just to him, but to his family. He knew that he had lied.<p>

Trying to ignore the sick feeling, George changed quickly and headed downstairs, where Ron and Hermione were seated at the table. Hermione was poring over her books while Ron was sleepily munching on cornflakes. Hermione said an enthusiastic good morning to George while Ron just waved groggily.

"You're looking chipper today, Ron," George said, pouring himself cereal. Ron was never quite a morning person, but today was something special. Ron just made a grunting sound, and George wasn't quite sure Ron had even heard him.

"I may have kept him up a bit late last night," Hermione admitted, not taking her eyes off of her book. "I was showing him everything we need for school. This last year really should be fascinating, I wish Harry and Ron would stop being so stubborn and just come back…" Hermione trailed off, once again lost in the pages of her new schoolbooks.

"I'll go back if he does," Ron muttered under his breath, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Well we'll never know what he'll do unless you _talk to him_," Hermione said exasperatedly. Leaning over to George, Hermione explained quickly in a loud whisper. "He wants to know if Harry is going back. Without Harry, I'm not so sure Ron can make it."

"I can fend for myself, I just—"

"But he won't even _talk_ to Harry. Honestly, those two…" Hermione interrupted, and Ron went back to his cereal. George watched the two silently. He remembered seeing Ron and Harry in the halls together, laughing, as Hermione tried convincing them to get up to the common room and do their homework. Fred and George would sometimes catch the two playing hangman while Hermione wrote a five-page essay; the boys hurriedly shoved the game away whenever she looked over.

Fred and George used to be like that. George recalled times when professors gave them detentions because they hadn't done a single scrap of homework—instead, they had been busy testing products. It was no use making up other excuses, because the two would often come to class with bruises on account of an experiment gone wrong. Trying not to laugh, Fred and George went happily to their detentions, not caring at all because they had their jokes and they had each other.

"I—I'm sorry, did I say something?" Hermione asked worriedly. With a jolt of horror, George realized that his eyes were swimming with tears. Angry at himself, George cleared his throat gruffly and nodded.

"Nothing. I mean, no. You're fine." He said, turning red. He promised himself he wouldn't do this, and now what? Just because he remembered some stupid detention with Fred, he suddenly broke down? Hermione nodded nervously, twisting her hands and looking back down at her work. But George could tell by the way she cleared her throat and shifted in her seat that she wasn't paying attention anymore. For the next few minutes, the only sounds came from book pages turning and Ron's loud munching. Once Ron and Hermione had finished, they headed to the backyard, where Mrs. Weasley was already gardening. George cleaned the dishes alone, wondering when Harry would be coming downstairs.

"'Ello, George," A musical voice said behind him. Fleur swept into the kitchen, lightly touching George on the arm. It seemed like lately, she was the only one unafraid to touch him. Fleur's touchy personality used to annoy George, but now he found his chest swelling with happiness whenever she rested a slender hand on his shoulder. "What are you going to do today?" She asked conversationally, delicately placing her chin in her hands, leaning on the kitchen counter.

"I was actually taking Harry with me to Hogsmeade today," George said. He couldn't keep track of even one more lie. Fleur's eyes widened with joy.

"Oh, that is wonderful! George, I am so happy. It will be fun, you will have fun," She smiled, speaking quickly. "I must go help your mother," Fleur waved daintily. "'Ave fun today, George. You deserve it." She squeezed his hand before disappearing into the backyard. George shook his head. He didn't deserve it. He didn't deserve anything that his family was giving him—their hope, their second chances, their love. He didn't deserve it at all.

"George!" The voice George had been waiting to hear shot through the silent kitchen. Harry stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee. "Still up for opening the shop?"

"Of course," George forced a smile and turned around. "Thanks for helping me, Harry. It's just hard to tell the family, you know…" Harry nodded, though George knew that he didn't understand.

Harry finished his coffee quickly and set the mug down with purpose. He shrugged on a jacket and smiled again at George. Both his and George's smiles were fake—both questioning what they were about to do.

"Ready?" Harry asked hesitantly, looking expectantly at George. George was suddenly reminded of the first time he had met Harry. It was at King's Cross; Harry was so young, so confused, so excited. He and Fred had grinned at the eleven-year-old, introducing themselves with their usual enthusiasm_. Fred would be ashamed of me_, George thought with a pang. But nevertheless, George nodded and stepped aside, letting Harry walk in front of him and out the door.

George walked slowly behind him, keeping his eyes on the floor; he couldn't bear to look back at his family for even one second. Fear rose in his throat; Harry had no idea what was about to happen. Hell, George didn't have any idea what was about to happen. All he could see was Fred falling in the mirror. Slate's scar. Romera's threat.

Harry shot a quick smile at George and held out his arm. George took a deep breath and hoped that Harry didn't feel him trembling. Seconds later, they appeared on the streets of Hogsmeade. When Harry took his hand away from George's arm, George felt a sinking feeling in his stomach.

The streets were completely deserted. Not a soul passed Harry and George. The only sounds came from wind blowing past creaky doors and Harry and George's quickening breaths. Something was wrong.


	19. Realization

**Hi, everyone! This chapter is a bit shorter, but I hope you still like it. Thank you all so, so much for your wonderful reviews and for reading!**

* * *

><p>Realization<p>

At the Burrow, Ron opened the sliding door noisily and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Stupid garden gnomes," Ron muttered, sucking on his bleeding finger. Hermione followed him.

"I thought that we had gotten the last of them, Ron," She said, grabbing her wand from the counter and, with a wave, the blood from Ron's hand began to disappear. Bill and Fleur already sat at the table. Fleur had just said something that made Bill laugh. Smiling, Bill raised a hand at Ron and Hermione.

"Gnome get you, Ron?" He asked. Ron shot him a scowl, and Bill just turned back to Fleur, still smiling.

"Have you seen Harry lately?" Hermione sat at the table and wiped her forehead, a long streak of dirt left across her face. Bill shook his head and Ron seemed too focused on his hand to care. But with a toss of her hair, Fleur spoke up confidently.

"Oh, don't you know? 'E and George are in Hogsmeade today," She said, smiling brightly. "'E told me this morning. I think it's wonderful, I said that it is good George is getting out of the house."

"Hogsmeade?" Hermione repeated, confused. Bill looked sharply at his wife with narrowed eyes. "Why now? Why with Harry?"

"Did he tell you this morning?" Bill asked quickly, and Fleur flinched.

"Yes, before you two left," She gestured to Ron and Hermione. "But what is wrong?" She looked from Bill to Ron worriedly. "What is wrong?" Her voice became shrill. Hermione glanced at Bill, who continued to stare at his wife with creased eyebrows, his mouth parted. Hermione turned into her seat to look at Ron.

One look at Ron said everything. The color drained from his face, and he let go of the towel binding his hand. The stained rag fell to the floor and Ron's breathing was shallow.

"What?" Hermione asked, standing up slowly. "Ron, what is it? What's happening?"

Ron still said nothing. He lifted his eyes to Hermione. His lips parted in horror, and he wordlessly reached behind him to the morning newspaper lying by the sink.

"Look," He finally said, but his voice was raspy. Hermione grabbed the paper quickly, fear in her deep brown eyes, and began to read.

"_As you have been reading, the last of the Death Eaters are not gone. For the past year, the ministry has been foiling their attempts to reach Harry Potter. These attempts include searches of Privet Drive and Hogwarts by small groups of remaining Death Eaters." _Hermione paused, looking up in horror.

"But that's where Harry went just a few months ago, isn't it?"

"That's why he decided to come home, isn't it?" Bill asked, Ron still unable to form words. "He knew that they were still out for him. The ministry has been going after them for months."

Hermione shook her head and looked back down at the paper, her voice rising._ "One group is rumored to have been seen just outside of Hogsmeade. The ministry has attempted many times to arrest these particular Death Eaters. They are said to be the most dangerous group, led by a man whose name remains unknown. Rumors say that he changes his name every few months, and he is followed by two other wizards and one witch. There have been three attacks as of last night. Hogsmeade has been ordered to evacuate. More details are to follow."_

Hermione stopped breathing. Her hands began to shake, and she let the paper fall on the kitchen table, where Bill immediately reached for it.

"Death Eaters?" She whispered, gripping the kitchen chair to steady herself. "George?"

"No. This isn't possible. He doesn't have any idea, I mean…"

"Why would George take him there?" Hermione covered her mouth with her hand, her face crumpled. "Why would he bring him? Why today?"

"He doesn't know any better," Bill said. "He hasn't been reading anything, remember? He's been living on his own, really, he's refused to even acknowledge any sort of reality."

"But why Hogsmeade, why _today?" _Hermione let out a single sob. "What's happening to him?"

"He has no clue, he can't have any clue…"

"But why else would he choose today to bring him?"

"This isn't his fault!" Bill said loudly, and Ron chose this moment to speak.

"GINNY!" He roared suddenly, and Bill, Fleur, and Hermione jumped. "PERCY! CHARLIE!"

"Ron, what are you doing?" Bill said weakly, running a hand through his hair and still staring at the article. "Percy and Charlie aren't here, they're—"

"Then GET them here!" Ron cried, and the glass cabinet shattered. He jumped out of the way, surprised, as plates slid onto the counter, and then the floor. Fleur shrieked and leapt from her seat, grabbing for Bill's arm. Hermione jumped, and another sob escaped her.

"Ron, what are you—?"

"GET them here, all right? This is HARRY we're talking about, this is GEORGE!"

"We need to be careful about this, we can't just go barging into Hogsmeade," Bill rose his voice.

"We have to!" Ron growled. "What else do you propose we do?"

At that moment, Ginny appeared breathlessly.

"What is it? What's happened?" She asked. She pushed up the sleeves of her sweatshirt and ran a hand through her messy hair. "Ron, what's…" She stopped once she saw the shattered plates. She looked at Hermione, who was now crying openly.

"Harry and George are at Hogsmeade." Bill said, and Ginny froze.

"Hogsmeade? Everyone was told to leave, it's been in the news," Ginny said weakly. Ron shook his head.

"I saw it this morning," Ginny argued, but fell silent once Ron continued to shake his head. "But why? Why would they go there?"

"George said that he wanted 'Arry to come with 'im, and to 'elp with the shop," Fleur said quietly. "I told 'im it was a great idea, I'm so sorry, I didn't know…" Fleur said, tears filling her eyes.

"It's not your fault," Bill whispered, placing a shaking hand on hers. Ron roared again.

"It doesn't matter!" He bellowed. "What matters is that we've got to go there, we've got to save them!"

"Ron, we don't know how many Death Eaters could be there, we're not prepared for that," Hermione whispered, wiping her eyes.

"Not prepared? Not _prepared?_ Think of what we've been through!" Ron grabbed Hermione's wrist. "Think of what we've been through this past year! We can do this. We have to do this. If you don't, I'm going there on my own."

"Ron!"

"Hermione!"

Suddenly, Ron's parents appeared at the door. Without waiting for their questions, Ron explained quickly.

"Harry and George are at Hogsmeade. There've already been attacks today. We're going to look for them." Ron looked at Hermione, who, to his surprise, nodded after a brief pause. Bill and Fleur also turned to Molly and Arthur with an apologetic look. Somehow, without any more words, they already knew what they had to do.

Arthur froze in his spot. "You want to go there?"

"We have to!"

"But…why would George bring him there, why today?"

"I dunno, okay, but we've got to move."

The kitchen was chaotic. Hermione was crying, Ron was yelling, Ginny tried to tear away from Bill's firm grasp on her arm. No one noticed Molly trying to catch their attention.

"NO!" She cried in a voice that no one had heard before, and the yelling ceased. "I am _not _letting _any one _of you down there! Do you not know? Do you not know how difficult this year has been?" Molly's eyes were red. "You don't know. You don't know what it's like to lose a child. If you think I am allowing another one of you to die, then you are _wrong!_" Molly's scream was deafening.

"Mum," Ron said bracingly, "We're going down there. We're going to save your son and we're going to save Harry. Nothing else is going happen, all right?"

"No! Ronald, NO! You are all staying here! We'll call the ministry, we'll—"

"And what're they going to be able to do?"

"They're going to keep you safe, everyone will be safe! No one else is going to die!" Molly sobbed, repeating the same words over and over. "You'll stay here, where it's safe."

"It's not safe here, Mum," Ron said, this time much quieter. "It hasn't been safe in a while. We're walking on pins and needles, all of us. All the time. And it hurts, all right? Mum, I'm sorry what I said about Harry replacing Fred. It was out of line." Molly covered her face with shaking hands while Arthur pulled her close to him. Ron sent an apologetic look to his father and took a deep breath.

"But this is our chance to save them. You've got to let us do this." Ron whispered. The kitchen was silent except for Hermione's and Molly's sniffling. Ginny shifted her weight, and glass plates were crushed into more pieces. Arthur looked at Ron with an expression that told them; he knew he couldn't stop them.

"We didn't have a chance to save Fred," Ron whispered. "But we still can save George."

Molly stood with her face covered for what seemed like hours. The room was completely silent; Ron could almost hear their old clock ticking, as if it had never disappeared. As if every hand of the clock pointed to "home." Slowly, Molly uncovered her face.

"Let's go."

"Are you sure? Mum, if you want to stay here," Bill started, but Molly sharply cut him off.

"I'm going to save my boy. And I'm going to save Harry. I'm not going to let anyone else die."

"Well then that's it then, isn't it?" Ginny said. Bill reached for Fleur's hand. Ginny was right. There was nothing else to say. One by one, each figure in the kitchen disappeared, Ginny being the first to leave. Only Ron and Hermione were left. Ron's blue eyes were swimming with tears.

"I don't want it to end like this," He whispered. Hermione took his hand.

"It won't."

And the kitchen was empty.


	20. Escape

**Hello! These next few chapters may be a bit shorter, but I'll try to update more often :) Let me know what you think, please! This is the first time I'm trying to write action-y type stories, so I'd love your feedback. Thanks!**

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><p>Escape<p>

"Leave," George said immediately. His stomach was tied in knots as he turned in his spot, taking in the empty streets. Suddenly, George had his answer. He was getting Harry out. It didn't matter what happened next; Harry shouldn't be there. George shouldn't have brought him.

"What?" Harry started. "What's going on? I was in Hogsmeade just earlier this week."

"Harry, leave. Now."

"Wh—what? George, what's this about?"

"Nothing. I just need you to go. Back to the Burrow, okay? Go."

Harry started to protest, but George silenced him with a loud cry.

"GO! For God's sake, Harry, go!" Harry nodded, swallowing hard.

"Are you coming?" Harry asked, turning on his heel and pulling out his wand.

"No." George's quick answer surprised himself, but he didn't question it. "No. I need to stay. You need to leave."

"George, whatever's going on, I can help," Harry begged, but George had made up his mind. He looked down at Harry, whose wand was at the ready. What had he done? He didn't want this. He didn't want Harry to see Slate's scar running like a tear down his face. He didn't want Harry's ears to hear Dex's maniacal laugh. He didn't want Harry to feel Romera's icy hands slide down his chest.

"I made a mistake bringing you here, all right? Please, Harry, listen to me. I can't let anything happen to you, I can't…" George's throat suddenly tightened. He thought again of Fred's body amongst the rubble, so silent and unmoving. If that were Harry's body, George could never forgive himself. But before George could again shout at Harry to leave, a cruel laugh shot through the unmoving air.

"I heard someone right over here, it could be the boy…"

Dex. It was Dex, and he was close. One block away, maybe two. In the silence, his voice rang out like a bell. George froze with fear as Harry lifted his wand.

"Do you think? Do you think he's finally come back? It's been a while, I must say that I've missed him…"

Romera. Her silky voice slithered through the cracked streets and made the hair on the back of George's neck stand up.

"Harry," He whispered. "Harry, come on." George grabbed Harry's wrist, feeling a surge of strength. Only George knew what was happening. Only George had this sort of power. He had never felt like this before; even when it was him and Fred, Fred was always the leader. Always. But this time, it was George who was leading Harry by the arm, walking without sound through deserted streets.

And for the first time in a year, as he shakily crept through empty streets, he felt strong.

George and Harry ducked into an alley quickly as the voices drew nearer and peered around the corner.

"Are you sure you heard anyone?" Romera asked skeptically.

"Of course I'm sure," Dex snarled. George put an arm in front of Harry's chest and pushed him against the dark wall, breathing deeply. Both boys looked out of the corner of their eyes as two shadows passed the alley.

"Shh…" Romera said suddenly, and the shadows came to a stop. George gritted his teeth and turned his head slightly towards Harry; Harry still stared out into the street. George's arm never left Harry as Romera and Dex stood in their spot, listening intently. George could feel Harry's chest rising and falling.

"It was nothing," Dex growled, and one lengthy shadow strode away. Romera stayed for a moment, but soon let out the breath she was holding and followed Dex. The bickering grew distant. George's grip on Harry relaxed, and the two let out deep breaths and looked at each other.

"George," Harry hissed, "What's going on?"

George waited a moment before answering, and then forced himself to look Harry straight in the eyes.

"I don't know. I mean, I have an idea, but I'm not sure. They want you, but I'm not going to let that happen. I'm not." George seemed to be talking to himself more than Harry, who nodded without further explanation and peered out of the alleyway.

"Then we've got to get back," Harry whispered. "George, you're in as much danger as I am here."

George shook his head.

"George—are you mad? We don't know what they could do…they could torture you, they could…" George shook his head violently.

"I'm staying," George said, and cut Harry off once he started to protest. "I'm _staying._ I got you into this, and I'm getting you out. I'll get you to the gates and then you can go back. They're not allowing any sort of apparation out of the village."

"How do you know? George—" But Harry fell silent once voices grew louder in the distance. A third wizard was talking. George held his breath and at once recognized the voice—the voice of the wizard who sat by the fireplace the time George first set foot in the old house. George hadn't seen him since then.

Once again, George grabbed Harry's wrist and the two crept out of the wet, dripping alley. George felt Harry jump, and looked down to see two rats scurrying across his feet. He put an arm around Harry's shoulders and drew him closer, and the two crouched down behind a small kiosk. Once they were certain the voices were far away, George and Harry began to run. They didn't stop until they reached the iron gates, where they finally paused for breath.

"Go back home," George breathed, "I can handle this."

"George, I can help," Harry panted, bending over and putting his hands on his knees, but George shook his head again.

"I need to do this. Go."

"George—"

"GO!" George cried. Harry, breathing hard, nodded.

"We'll come back for you," He said. George didn't bother to respond; just stood there, hunched, feeling as though he might throw up. He turned away from Harry, wiping his forehead, and suddenly yelled.

"What're you doing, kid?" A bloody scar. A smile with missing teeth. A deep, throaty voice. Slate stood inches away from George, so close that George could feel his breath on his neck. Slate started to laugh at George, that same, low laugh that echoed in George's room at night. The laugh that George heard when he woke up. The laugh that rang in George's ears as he walked down the stairs, poured his cereal in the morning, clutched his arm in pain as his scar seared.

"No—"

"I don't think so. He's ours now. Thanks, George."

"No," George breathed. Behind him, he heard Harry shout. George whipped around to see Harry enclosed in Dex's arms with a wand to his throat. Harry made a dash for his wand, but Romera appeared in a cloud of smoke and grabbed it, smiling widely.

"Hi, Georgie," She said slyly, twirling Harry's wand in her hands. "Miss me?"

"HARRY!" George cried, and lunged for Harry, grabbing at his sweatshirt for his wand. But before he could even take one step, he felt a tight grip on his arm and the scars once again burned. George yelled and dropped to his knees, unable to bear the pain.

"You broke your promise," Slate grabbed George's hair roughly and pulled his head back, forcing George to meet his eyes. "You're helping him escape."

"LET HIM GO!" George screamed, still struggling to get closer to Harry, who squirmed in Dex's grasp. Slate pulled George's hair again violently. George fumbled for his wand lying on the wet ground beside him—but as soon as he closed a cold hand around the sleek wood, he felt a sharp point slam down on his wrist. A heel. He yelled and dropped his wand, hearing Romera's coy laugh. He opened his eyes slightly and saw her heel, inches away from his wrist, which was twisted and deformed.

"Take me instead," George begged, once again looking at Harry. "Take me instead. Let him go, just take me." Harry froze at these words.

"George…" But he was silenced as Dex drew his wand sharply and a cut appeared on Harry's face.

"Take me instead!"

"George!"

George squirmed to get away from Slate. He saw Harry struggling against Dex, helpless without his wand. George couldn't bear to think of Harry dying—his mother's reaction, Ron's reaction. He could picture them now. Molly would give up any remaining hope. Ron would never be the same. Once again, George thought of Fred's motionless body.

"KILL ME INSTEAD!"

"Oh, we've got plans for you," Slate growled, and yanked George to his feet. As soon as George was standing, he kicked back, as hard as he could. He heard Slate shout with surprise, and George lunged for his wand, and back to Harry. But before he could even reach out a hand, Romera raised her wand and surrounded him with black smoke. George turned in his spot, his eyes tearing up from the smoke.

"Harry," He choked, holding his wand out blindly, hoping that Harry would somehow reach out and take it. But George knew that it was hopeless. Slate grabbed George and George's arm burned again, worse than ever before. When the smoke disappeared, Harry was gone. Slate and George were left alone.

"Where'd you take him?" George growled. Slate just grinned.

"Kid, you should be more worried about what's gonna happen to you."

"Where did you take him?" George repeated angrily, but was cut off as Slate closed a rough hand around his throat.

"I _said,_" Slate said lowly, his grin replaced with a scowl, "That you should just worry about yourself. You're coming with me."

"NO!" George screamed, using his free wrist to knock away Slate's arm. "LET ME GO!" But Slate was too strong. He grabbed George's broken wrist violently, and George winced.

"LET ME GO! LET ME GO, LET ME GO! HARRY!" George started to scream, but no one heard him. The streets were still empty. Romera was gone. Dex was gone. The third wizard was gone.

George's screams echoed all the way to the Shrieking Shack.


	21. Running Out of Time

**Okay, so this one is very very short. Sorry! But I'll be updating soon-enjoy!**

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><p>Running Out of Time<p>

Seconds after George was dragged away, Ron appeared outside the gates of Hogsmeade. He clutched Hermione's hand and faced his family, who looked as if they had also just arrived. Ginny was clinging to the metal bars, peering at the bare village.

"It's empty," She said blankly. "It's empty. Maybe they're not here." She knew that it wasn't likely; she knew that she was just trying to convince herself. Her family didn't say anything, letting themselves hope for just one moment that George and Harry were safe; perhaps back at the Burrow, or in Diagon Alley. Wondering where everyone else had gone. But even Ginny didn't believe herself. She turned to her family and braced herself.

"Let's go in, then," She said matter-of-factly, and pulled out her wand, but Arthur grabbed her with lightning quick reflexes.

"We need some sort of plan," He said darkly.

"We don't have time!" Ginny burst. "Dad, they could by dying! We don't have time to figure something out, we just have to go!"

"Gin, do you know how dangerous these people are? I don't want any of you to—"

Suddenly, Arthur was cut off by Fleur's shriek.

"Look!" She gasped, clinging to Bill's arm, pointing at the ground. The family's eyes followed. Hermione felt Ron wilt beside her and let out a whimper; he was shaking. Blood covered the ground, still wet and gleaming red.

"They were here," Hermione whispered. "They were just here, just now…" She breathed, raising a hand to her mouth. She stole a glance at the rest of the family. Molly stood, transfixed by the red, grimy ground. She wasn't crying; she wasn't yelling. She just stood, staring.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione said gently. "Mrs. Weasley, if you want to go home…" Hermione's voice was much too high. Molly looked at her with the same expressionless face, and Hermione fell silent. Nothing had to be said. Molly was staying. The family remained quiet for a moment before Bill spoke.

"The Shrieking Shack," He said quietly. "If they took George or Harry, that's where the Death Eaters could have taken them."

"How do you know?" Ginny asked.

"I don't," Bill admitted, running a hand through his hair. "But we've got to start somewhere, don't we? Anyone else have any ideas?"

Everyone was silent.

"Do you reckon both of them are there? What if they were split up, taken somewhere else?" Ginny asked.

"George is the one that brought Harry here," Bill said.

"He didn't know that it'd be filled with Death Eaters now, did he?" Ron snarled.

"Listen, we don't know why they came here today. We just need to _do something,_" Ginny pleaded.

"She is right," Fleur agreed. "We must go."

"Fleur, I meant to talk to you," Bill said lowly, taking Fleur's arm and turning her away slightly. Knowing what Bill was about to say, Fleur tugged her arm back and scoffed.

"Bill, stop it. They are my family too, now. I am coming with you, as is Ginny," She said sharply, as Bill threw a glance at Ginny. "We are all here for him. For both of them."

Bill knew that it was a lost cause. He turned to Ginny, who was already glaring fiercely. Determined. She was good at magic, there was no doubt; and once she had her mind set on something, there was no hope of changing it. She was confident, of course; but a look in her eye told Bill that there was no time to argue.

"Okay," Arthur said quietly. "The Shrieking Shack, you said?"


	22. Torture

**And here is chapter 22! Once again, a bit short. Let me know what you think, I appreciate it! I hope you like it :)**

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><p>Torture<p>

George held his head, which was now bleeding. He hunched forward from the wall that he was just thrown against—he was in the lower level of the Shrieking Shack. Slate stood before him, with his wand raised.

"You were helping him escape," Slate hissed. "You promised me that you would bring him here, no questions asked. And now, suddenly, the ministry knows about our position. You mind telling me how that happened?"

George just stood, breathing heavily, bleeding onto the dusty floor. He didn't know. He hadn't even read the news in almost a year. But nothing would stop Slate now, and all George had on his mind was how to get back to Harry. How to save him. It was the only thing that could possibly redeem George after he had gone against his instinct, against that screaming voice in his head, and betrayed his family; the only people who still believed in him anymore.

"Not going to talk?" Slate whispered. "That's too bad…_Crucio!"_

George seized and fell to the ground, his body thrashing madly on the creaky floor. The spell ceased after a moment, but his arm still tingled. As George relaxed, his head fell to the side and out of the corner of his eye, saw the tall mirror that Fred had appeared in, so life-like but so distant…

"What?" Slate whispered, eerily close to George. "You trying to see your brother?"

George just stared at the mirror, bleeding onto the grimy stone floor.

"You trying to look in the mirror? You know what's in there?"

George closed his eyes and tried taking a deep breath, but coughed up blood before he could release.

"Get up," Slate spat, but before George could move, Slate seized George's throat and lifted him into the air. "Still not going to talk?"

George still said nothing; he feared that anything he said, Slate could use to his advantage. Slate could find Harry, Slate could kill him. George just had to remain quiet. If that meant dying…

George writhed in pain again as Slate muttered a curse.

"I can make you talk, you know," Slate hissed. "I can make you do things. Look at your arm, George. Look at your arm!" He forced George's head to the side and George caught a glimpse of his bright red scars.

"I can make things happen."

George suddenly caught his breath. He remembered that day in the bathroom; the day of the funeral. George had perched on the tub with his wand out. He didn't know what he was doing. It was just happening…and when he woke up, he could barely remember anything…George looked at Slate, whose mouth was curled into a sneer.

"You—I was the one who cut—" George gasped, out of breath. "You did this to me?"

"You're vulnerable, George. You're weak. I can do anything I want to. I led you to me, don't you understand? And you were too _weak _to do anything about it!"

With another jerk of his wand, a sharp pain shot through George's cheek and he tasted blood.

"I was the one who did this, not you, I hadn't even known you…" George wheezed, clutching his face. Slate laughed sharply.

"We'd been keeping a close eye on Harry. Don't you know by now? You Weasleys were his family. And you were the weakest of them all; the one who would do anything if I asked. You let me into your head. You couldn't even remember doing that to yourself, could you?"

George thought of the conversation outside of his hospital room; he hadn't remembered using the Cruciatus Curse. He had only remembered pain tearing through his arm, his chest, his head. Slate's mouth twisted into a smile and he raised his wand once more.

"I needed you to get to Harry. I needed someone too scared to do anything about it…too pathetic…and I picked you, George."

"Stop it," George's voice cracked and he tasted blood.

"Too late, Georgie. I'm in your head now."

George could barely keep track of his thoughts anymore. Harry. Ron. Ginny. He thought of Fleur's gentle touch on his cheek when he arrived back home. He thought of his father pulling him closer as his arm burned with pain. He thought of his poor mother, cooking and cleaning until her hands were raw.

"_Crucio!_"

Bill's wide, calm smile that never failed to relax George.

More pain.

Charlie arriving home from the summer in Romania, hugging George tightly to him and telling him tales of dragons until late in the night.

_"Sectumsempra!"_

Percy, crying at the funeral; true emotion, becoming the person he used to be when he was little.

Thoughts swirled around George's head as gashes appeared everywhere on his body. Slate paused, looking angrier than ever. George still didn't talk.

"Do you _want_ to die?" Slate roared. "If you don't talk, I _will _kill you! Don't you dare think I won't! Yet you still remain silent." Slate knelt next to George's head and whispered; "So tell me. Do you want to die?"

Finally, George's thoughts reached Fred.

And then darkness.


	23. No Need for Words

**Hello, everyone! So this is another short chapter-sorry! After this, I hope they'll get longer. Anyways, sorry if it's too sappy for ya; but I feel like there just needs to be one scene like this between Fred and George. Please enjoy and tell me what you think!**

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><p>No Need for Words<p>

_The battle had started. Fred and George hadn't seen Ron in months, much less heard anything from Harry or Hermione. Hogsmeade was deserted; no one from Hogwarts came around anymore. As far as they heard, Hogwarts had changed. Fred and George stood in their empty shop, staring wordlessly at the spiral staircase. It seemed as though so much had happened there. Where they had their first conversation as they bought the property. Where they surveyed both levels of the store, filling it with images of future products. It was where Fred and George felt at home._

_ "Things are really changing, huh?" George asked, continuing up the stairs to the higher level. Fred laughed half-heartedly._

_ "Yeah. When do you reckon Ron will be back? And Harry, and Hermione? I mean, something's got to change, right?" Fred asked, following his brother._

_ "I know it will," George said, fumbling with an old Fainting Fancy. Fred was looking at an old, dusty shelf, filled with expired products. Fred laughed._

"_Remember these?" He asked, holding up a Puking Pastil. "Our best selling product." Fred put it back, still smiling. George put down the Fainting Fancy and ran his hand along the shelves._

"_I suppose one day, our kids will have to take care of this shop."_

"_That's hard to imagine," George laughed._

"_What? Our kids?"_

"_You know, getting married, having kids…I still feel like I'm a twelve-year-old sometimes."_

_Fred laughed. "I guess you're right." The boys were silent for a moment. George turned to Fred, about to suggest going back to the Burrow. But when he turned around, he saw Fred's eyes shining. _

"_What's wrong?" He asked, bewildered. Fred was almost never like this. In fact, it was always Fred who comforted George. Fred shook his head and cast his eyes downward, embarrassed._

_ "Nothing," He mumbled, turning to a shelf and idly playing with another product. George just stared, his mouth hanging slightly open._

_ "Freddie," He said, and he saw Fred wince at the familiar childhood name. "Freddie, what? You can tell me," George pleaded, stepping closer to his brother. Fred turned his head away once more. George reached a hand forward, but before he could touch Fred's shoulder, he paused. "You don't always have to be the brave one," George said cautiously. Quietly._

_ "I'm scared," Fred burst, whipping around to face George. His eyes glistened with tears. "All right? I'm scared. I know that we're not supposed to be, I know that we're supposed to be the funny ones. The ones who never seem to really think about things too seriously. But I am scared, I can't help it!" He admitted, and his voice cracked. George felt a knot in his stomach. It scared him seeing Fred like this, but it was his turn to step up, after years of Fred tossing an arm around George and smiling widely._

_ "Nothing's going to happen to you," George said confidently; even giving his brother a half-smile. "You can do anything! You've got the looks, the confidence, the brains—or so you told me." George smiled again, giving a nervous laugh. "You'll be okay, I promise."_

_ "I'm not scared for me," Fred shook his head and a tear escaped his twinkling eyes. "I mean, what about you? If that spell earlier this year had hit you, I mean __**really**__ hit you, you could have died. Do you know how scared I was? If something happens to you, I don't think I'll make it. I'm not strong enough. I might act like it at times, but we need each other, I can't…" But Fred's voice cracked, and he couldn't continue. George couldn't find any more words. He just watched his brother, his scared, crying brother._

_ "Fred," George croaked, "You __**are **__strong. You've always been the strong one! Please, don't be scared. Nothing is ever going to change with us. Freddie? Are you listening to me?" George stepped closer to Fred, who nodded curtly, biting his lip._

_ "Listen, if we don't make it…" Fred said quietly, but George shook his head._

_ "Don't say that."_

"_I've always looked up to you."_

"_We're not saying good-byes, okay? We're not." It was hard to speak. George's throat was tight and his voice cracked with every word._

_ "It's not good-bye though," Fred gave a watery smile. "It's just a fact. I've always looked up to you. And I don't want to say this, because let's face it; we're the funny ones. We never really say anything that means…anything." Fred laughed. "But I love you, okay? Just in case we don't make it."_

_ George stood where he was, willing himself not to cry. Fred. The brave one. The strong one. He was now preparing to die, preparing for the worst._

_ "Back at you," George finally managed, and with that, he pulled Fred close to him. Fred smiled into George's shoulder and George's eyes stung. They stayed like that for what seemed like hours, until suddenly, the shop filled with misty, silver light._

_ Kingsley's patronus floated into the room and stopped before Fred and George. George let go of Fred, but kept a hand on his shoulder. They watched the lynx for a moment as it stood on its legs. Kingsley's powerful voice rang out into every corner of the shop and the twins gasped._

_ "Harry Potter has returned. He is at Hogwarts. Anyone who wishes to fight may come." With those words, the lynx disappeared. The silver light hung in the air, surrounding the boys. Fred and George looked at each other. Suddenly, Fred broke into a grin._

_ "I guess that we're not done causing trouble at that school yet, are we?" He said shakily, and George laughed._

_ "Funny, I suppose not. I guess there are some things that will never get old," George grinned. Fred's eyes sparkled as he grabbed George's hand, and they disappeared on the spot. They didn't need words. They never did. They finished each other's sentences, each other's thoughts._

_ There was no need for words._


	24. Strength

**Hello! So this one is a little longer than the last few :) Let me know what you think, and once again, thanks soooo much to everyone reading it!**

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><p>Strength<p>

He turned his head to the side. A sharp pain shot down his spine. Everything hurt. He raised a shaking hand to his head and realized that he was bleeding. The ground he lay on was grimy and cold.

He stared at the familiar cuts on his left arm. It seemed just days ago that he got those cuts.

Where was he?

What happened?

It was dark. Pain radiated through his body. His shirt was ripped and wet with blood. His face bruised. His bones broken.

He turned his head to face the ceiling. Water dripped down, echoing in the dark.

He tried to remember, but he couldn't. He opened his mouth to speak, and pain spread throughout his chest. He closed his mouth.

Remember. Try to remember.

But he still couldn't. He only remembered one thing. One person.

In the cold darkness, George Weasley croaked the one word he had refused to say for nearly a year.

"_Fred."_

George remained on the floor for a moment. He felt a sharp pain in his chest every time he took a breath. He was about to close his eyes again, ready to let himself drift back to a different time, when something caught his eye. He forced himself to look to the side again. A tall, glittering mirror sparkled at the end of the room.

The mirror. Fred. Slate.

The more George stared at the mirror, the more he remembered. George struggled to lift his head, and pain ripped through his chest once more. He cried out and fell back down, breathing deeply. Blood was everywhere. George, determined to get to the mirror, rolled over to his stomach and onto his wrist; George roared in pain, remembering that his wrist had been broken.

A heel. A heel had broken his wrist. Romera.

George took a moment to collect himself before pushing up with his good hand. Finally he was on his knees, and the pain in his chest lessened. He kneeled while the minutes crept by, trying to remember. When he forced himself to stand up, he was faced with the mirror that towered high over him, and saw the familiar face that brought him there.

Slate. His bloody scar. His promise to bring Fred back. The promise George made to bring Harry. The Slate standing in the mirror didn't smile or scowl at George—he just stood there, motionless. Suddenly, a voice rang out and filled every space of the dark, dripping room. George let out a cry of surprise and covered his ears as Slate's voice filled the Shrieking Shack.

"This is what I can do, George," The voice hissed, though the Slate before George didn't move his lips at all. "I could bring him back." George dropped his hands to his sides as he saw Fred appear in the mirror, a long distance away. It was just a tall, wispy shadow, but George knew that it was Fred. The shadow started making its way toward George.

"But you broke your promise," The voice hissed, and Slate in the mirror raised his wand. Suddenly, Fred's shadow twisted and writhed in pain.

"No!" George cried, reaching out to grab the mirror.

"You told me that you would bring Harry Potter. But you let him escape. Harry's gone, George. Where is he? What have you done?"

"No, no, stop," George said in horror, watching Fred's figure convulse at Slate's wand. "Let him go!"

"You made a promise. And you broke it. Well guess what, kid? You're with me now." Slate released his wand and a twisted grin broke out across his face. George stared weakly at Fred's shadow, which now lay on the ground weakly. The figure in the mirror smirked at George's panicked face.

"You look nervous, kid," Slate's voice whispered. "So I'll make you a deal. You have one last chance to bring Harry Potter to us. And you'll get Fred back. One…last…chance…" He said slowly. George stared at the memory of his brother, who had gotten up since Slate had released his grip. The wispy figure raised its head and looked straight at George; and suddenly, strength surged inside George's chest and he tore his eyes away from Fred. He looked straight at Slate's twisted, disfigured face, and spoke.

"No." His voice was louder than it had been the entire year. George was done speaking softly, avoiding eye contact with anyone who looked his way. He was done retreating to his room when he was afraid. Fred had been right; he's not weak, and he never had been.

"I'm not helping you. I'm done with you. And I'm not betraying Harry, or Ron, or anyone else that you claim will help me bring Fred back. I'm staying with my family. They're stronger than you'll ever be." Saying Fred's name out loud made George's chest swell with pride; with a newfound sense of hope. His eyes were dry; his face didn't grow red with embarrassment and shame.

Slate's reflection widened his eyes.

"Then, George," He said softly. George stood tall, jaw clenched, refusing to back down. "It's not Harry that you have to worry about any more. Romera warned you. You're one of us now."

"Like hell I am," His voice shook, but not out of fear; out of rage. Strength. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the flicker of a smile on Fred's shadow, and heard a familiar voice.

_Good for you, Georgie._

The next moment, Slate was gone; George was left alone, staring at the mirror. Fred had replaced Slate, and a faint light shone across him. All George could see was a sliver of Fred's pale face, his sparkling eyes. Fred smiled at him sadly; at the reflection of the two of them, standing shoulder to shoulder, like always. The twins watched themselves for what seemed like an eternity.

"This is a mirror of memories, isn't it?" George asked, staring at the glossy surface. "You're a memory…I remember talking to you about this once. In our shop, when we were working on new products. It's odd to see it. Times really change, don't they?"

_I suppose they do, _Fred shrugged. _But memories never die, do they?_

"How did he get my memories, then? I thought that the mirror was supposed to show the memory of the owner."

_You let him into your life when you wouldn't let anyone else, _Fred shrugged, looking apologetic. _You let him in._

"He can't bring you back, can he, Freddie?" George asked quietly, knowing the answer. "It was all a lie."

Fred nodded sadly. George let out a nervous laugh.

"My bad," George broke into a watery smile. Fred laughed out loud.

_Not your fault, mate, _Fred smiled. George watched his brother laugh and suddenly remembered Romera's story about her sister Emilia. "She made that up, didn't she? She never had a sister. She was just trying to get to me."

Fred nodded again, his grin fading. The light caught his flaming hair. George let out a cynical laugh and ran his hand through his matted hair. As he lowered his hand, light caught his scar. _Fred_.

"Are you all right, Freddie?" George asked, still staring at his scar. He remembered asking Fred the question moments before the battle. Some of his last words with his twin. "Wherever you are, are you all right?" George's voice cracked.

When George looked up again, Fred's eyes were glassy.

_I miss you, _Fred said. _But Georgie, I can't wait until you get here. Don't rush it or anything, _Fred hurried, laughing. _But when it's your time, we are going to be famous around here. I've been telling everybody about you._

"Where, though? I hate not knowing where you are," George said. "Where are you? What's happening?"

_All in good time, my friend, _Fred smiled. _But I'm not lonely, and you shouldn't be either. Don't be alone. Ever. You're too special for that, Georgie. I'd hate for people to miss out on knowing you. Because you're pretty damn cool._

"You've got that right," George smiled, but paused. "But without you, Fred…" George began, and trailed off, running a hand through his hair again. His forehead was smeared with blood.

_Don't you dare say that. You're the best, George. The beauty and the brains._

"Oh yeah? Will you finally admit that I'm both?" George grinned at his twin, who laughed in the mirror.

_Maybe once you clean yourself up a bit, _Fred said, inspecting him. _In this state that you're in, I'm still the better-looking one. _

Suddenly, a loud crash sounded from upstairs, followed by several screams. Fred and George both looked up at the ceiling, startled.

"What was that?" George gasped.

_I guess you'd better go check it out, _Fred said, smiling sadly.

"No. No, don't leave, not yet," George begged as Fred glanced up at the ceiling. They heard footsteps and a crash. "Please, just a little longer."

_I can't. It's time to go. I know this sounds cliché and a bit cheesy, but George, I'll always be with you._

"You're right. That does sound cliché."

_But it's true, and you know it! You're your own person, Georgie, you always have been. Even without me there, you're still the same great person. And we love you, all of us._

Another crash upstairs sounded, and George heard a sharp scream.

"I love you, Fred," George burst, his throat tight.

_I'll see you again someday, I promise! Tell everyone I love them. Tell Mum that it will be okay. _Tears streamed down Fred's grinning face. _Raise some hell for us, Georgie,_ Fred laughed through his tears. And he was gone. George's face was covered in grime, except for two clean streaks of tears. With a final burst of strength, of happiness to see his twin, of hope, George struck the mirror. It shattered and glass scattered to the floor around George's feet. He picked up a single shard of the mirror and put it in his pocket.

Fred was right. It was time to go.

But before George could even turn around, he heard a small voice behind him.

"George?" And there his sister stood, in the dark basement of the Shrieking Shack. She was breathing heavily. She was bleeding. She looked so small, so small yet so brave, standing there in the unfamiliar dark space. Her eyes widened with confusion as George turned around. Perhaps because, for the first time in a year, he was smiling.


	25. Fighting for Someone

**Hello, everyone! I did my best to update quickly :) Once again, thank you so so so much for reading and reviewing. I can't begin to tell you how much I appreciate it! As usual, enjoy the chapter and feel free to let me know what you think!**

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><p>Fighting for Someone<p>

"George, oh my God," Ginny breathed, and threw her arms around George. George squeezed her tightly, never wanting to let go. He felt Ginny smile into his shoulder. But a scream from upstairs brought the two back to their dark reality, and George dropped Ginny back down to her feet. Ginny looked exhausted already; her clothing was ripped and there were streaks of dirt down her face.

"How did you get here? How did you know how to find me?" George asked hurriedly, clutching Ginny's shoulders. She was distracted, listening to the sounds upstairs.

"It—we read in the papers," She said, looking around the room. She picked up her feet as she noticed the shattered mirror. "This is where they were last."

"Who? Who are these people?"

"You don't know?"

"Ginny, what are they doing? Why do they want Harry?"

"Oh God, George, we were worried—we worried that you were—but you couldn't have been, of course, we knew that…"

"Couldn't have been what?"

"They're Death Eaters," Ginny said absently, now looking at the broken mirror.

"You thought…" George's heart plummeted. "Gin…"

"George, what is this glass from? The mirror?"

"Ginny, please…"

"And you're bleeding, you look so bad, George, what's going on?"

"Gin, look at me!"

Ginny's eyes snapped back to George. George stared at his little sister for a moment, taking in those blazing eyes, that brave, confident look of hers. George's hands slipped from her shoulders to her hands and he grasped them tightly until his knuckles turned white.

"I'm here now, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen. To anyone. Okay?"

Ginny's eyes were swimming with tears. She nodded, biting her lip.

"We were just scared," She whispered. But the sound of glass shattering upstairs stopped their conversation. George pulled Ginny in close to him, shielding her as the basement shook. Ginny clutched his back, burying her face into the crook of his arm.

"Gin, who's up there?" George asked over her head.

"Everyone. Mum, Dad, Bill, Fleur, Ron, Hermione."

"You mean…" George's voice caught as he thought of his family upstairs, risking their lives. Risking their lives for him. He always thought that he would be no one without Fred; that he just blended into his brother sometimes. He thought that no one would give it a second thought if he disappeared. Yet here he was, in the dark basement of the Shrieking Shack, holding his sister tightly and listening to the sounds of people he loved fighting for him.

Everyone needs someone to fight for. George took one more look at Ginny; so young, so brave. He wasn't scared anymore. He would fight for Ginny. He would fight for his parents; for Ron, for Bill.

He would fight for Fred.

"Come on," George said, and grabbed Ginny's hand. Ginny's eyes brightened slightly.

"You're not going to tell me to stay where it's safe?" She asked, smiling.

"What good will that do?" George grinned down at his fierce sister. "That's like telling Fred and I to be serious." Ginny's face froze—George couldn't tell if she was about to cry from happiness or heartbreak. But sure enough, her face broke into a grin and her eyes filled with tears.

"Exactly," She beamed, and took the lead, pulling George up the stairs. As George ran after his sister, he felt the shard of mirror burning a hole in his pocket. He could practically feel Fred with him, propelling him forward, laughing as he stumbled after Ginny and cheering as he burst through the door…

"Expelliarmus!" The spell escaped George automatically as a jet of light soared towards Ginny. The light was redirected and burst through the ceiling. Rain began to fall into the house. George lowered his head and wiped his face, still wet and grimy. There before him stood his family; his shouting, fighting family. They weren't in the faint glow of a mirror; their voices didn't echo in George's head. But they were there, and they were fighting.

Ron was locked in battle with the third mysterious wizard; Molly and Arthur took on Slate. There were at least ten Death Eaters that George had never seen before, and didn't have time to ask questions. He turned to see Bill take on a tall, lanky man with a chunk taken out of his arm. Fleur and Hermione battled two women, each with long, matted blonde hair.

"Good to see you again," George heard a familiar voice behind him, and whipped around. But as soon as he raised his wand, the woman knocked his wrist out of the way, causing George to scream and drop his wand. It was Romera. She gazed at George with that same severe look in her blue eyes, underneath those same dark curls. George felt anger surge through his chest.

"You lied," He growled. "You LIED!" But as George lunged for his wand, Ginny pounced.

"I've got this," She said with a blazing look. Without hesitation, Ginny raised her wand and struck with such force that Romera was knocked backwards into the wall. George didn't even hear what spell she used; all he saw was red light erupting around Romera, and the next moment, Romera lay on the ground, unconscious.

"Thanks," George panted as Ginny wordlessly helped him to his feet.

"I was scared for a second there," Ginny smiled, half-laughing. "I don't think I've ever seen you look quite so…scary. You guys know each other or something?"

"It's a long story," George shrugged, and sent another spell toward a Death Eater advancing on Hermione. Hermione turned her head to avoid the spell and, noticing George, shrieked; she hadn't seen George arrive.

"George!" She cried, absent-mindedly flicking her wand and knocking the stumbling Death Eater unconscious. George stretched out a hand and pulled her up. Hermione quickly threw her arms around George's middle and drew back before he could even respond. Within seconds, she was back in the fight, rushing to Ron's side to help him finish off his own battle.

"George! Watch out!" Arthur's voice sailed across the house and George turned on his heel, just in time to see a bulky man with scars down his face running towards him.

"_Stupefy_!" George cried, and the man sailed back into the darkness of the house. He felt his father at his side, a strong hand on his shoulder.

"Dad," George said hurriedly, "I'm so sorry." Arthur stopped to stare at his son for a moment before responding.

"There's nothing to be sorry about, son," He said. His eyes had bags underneath them and he looked frail as he raised his wand.

"George," Molly said, breathing heavily, as she caught up to the two. "Oh, George, we're so happy we've found you." Tears filled her eyes.

"Mum, I need you to go back home," George pleaded, inspecting his mother, who was bruised and bloody. "Please, I never meant to bring you into this…"

"Too late now, George," Ron sailed past them, casting a spell that knocked out two Death Eaters at once. George half-smiled at his brother, but the knot in his stomach tightened and he turned quickly back to his parents.

"No, please—I never should have brought you here, I'll figure the rest out on my own—"

"George," Molly whispered. "Sweetheart, you're never on your own. That's what we've been trying to tell you! You've got us. And that's never going to change. Whether you like it or not, we're here to stay."

"But why?" George begged. He couldn't bear the thought of his parents dying for him. Lying amongst rubble, just like Fred. "Why can't you go home, why can't you just be safe and let me work this out?"

"Because I said so."

George's eyes stung as soon as Molly said those four words. How often he and Fred had heard those words. They questioned her endlessly about why they couldn't practice magic in their room and about why they couldn't test out their joke shop products on Ron. And she always responded with that. Fred and George knew not to argue any longer; they just walked dejectedly up to their room, muttering to each other. Because she said so. George knew in that moment that his family wasn't going anywhere.

Suddenly, there was a loud crack and the room was filled with smoke. Ginny jumped in surprise; Ron covered his ears and shouted. As the smoke cleared, George squinted and saw Percy and Charlie standing in the center of the room, each looking surprised. They had each knocked a Death Eater off their feet and unconscious by apparating into the Shrieking Shack.

"Nice one, Perce," Bill grinned at his brother. Ron clapped Charlie on his back before sending another Death Eater flying.

"No problem at all," Charlie smiled, sending another curse sailing above Ron's hand. George stood back from the fight for a moment, watching; and couldn't help but breaking into a fleeting grin. Here was his family, fighting for him; fighting to stay together. Even after the year of destruction and death, of searing scars and anger, they still had enough hope to fight to be together. It didn't matter that George's arm burned every now and then, or that he shouted at his parents and brothers sometimes; it didn't matter that Percy rarely came around, afraid of what George might say to him. Because everything that had happened was nothing, _nothing _in comparison to what the family had together. George watched Molly take down the final Death Eater, and in a moment, everything stopped.

The room was empty except for the Weasleys, Hermione, and several unconscious Death Eaters scattered around the floor. Hermione stood breathing heavily, eyes wide, surveying the room. Arthur looped an arm around Ginny and pulled her close to him; Ginny graciously rested her head on her father's arm. Bill reached out and took Fleur's hand, and Ron did the same. The family stood in the destroyed house as rain fell through. Suddenly, George remembered Harry.

"Where is he?" George asked. "Where's Harry?"

"Fighting his own battle, I'm afraid," Arthur said, and George was surprised to see that he was smiling.

"What do you mean?" George asked fearfully.

"He's at the ministry," Ginny grinned. "He was caught in another group of Death Eaters at this one mansion just outside of Hogsmeade. Some more of this lot, I suppose," Ginny glanced at the damp room behind her; the scattered Death Eaters on the floor. "Luckily that was when we happened to show, and while we fought them off, Hermione took Harry back home. To the ministry, actually, where Kingsley is with him."

"And he just went?"

"Well, he was kicking and screaming the whole time," Ginny laughed, "You know how he hates to be left out of things. But he was too much of a risk—if we wanted to find you, we had to leave him where he'd be safe. Otherwise he'd draw too much attention. As always," Ginny added.

"Oh." George's throat tightened at the thought of Hermione dragging Harry away and his family fighting their way through Death Eaters to find George.

"And then we came to the Shrieking Shack, because that's where they were last seen," Ginny finished.

"I'm so sorry," George blurted before he could stop himself. "I never meant for this to happen. I was upset, and Slate told me…" George flushed. "One of the Death Eaters…I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry." George stopped there, not sure he could continue any longer. He stared at the floor, afraid of his family's reaction, when he felt arms close around him.

No words were needed. Molly squeezed George tightly, and he wrapped his arms around her, giving his mother the hug she had wanted the entire year. The embrace that he needed, the one that told him he wasn't alone; that told him he would never be alone. He broke away and wiped his face, his hand coming away with blood.

Ron collapsed into a nearby chair and George laughed.

"You okay, Ron?" He asked, watching his brother, who laid his head on the table and was breathing heavily.

"I thought I was done with this," Ron panted. "I thought I could finally just have a regular year. Bloody hell, George."

George laughed, but as he turned away, something caught his eye. The Death Eaters lay on the floor; some stirring, some completely knocked out. Arthur had called the ministry already, who were supposed to be arriving any moment. George studied the floor, searching for three people. Three people who weren't there.

"Where's Slate?" George asked sharply.

"Who?" Hermione asked, alarmed. It was probably one of the few times that George knew someone that she didn't.

"The one with the scar down his face. From his eye to his mouth, where is he?" George raised his voice, and his family immediately searched the room with their eyes. Ginny and Fleur lit their wands for more light. Ginny caught the wall where she had cursed Romera, and saw that the bottom of the wet, grimy wall was empty.

"The woman," Ginny called urgently. "She's gone."

"So is the one I got rid of," Ron called from the other side of the room. "He isn't here. He was here just a second ago, I swear…"

Slate. Romera. Dex. George turned on his heel, refusing to believe that they had escaped. They could be anywhere. They could be trapping other wizards, torturing others in their search of Harry Potter. George turned to see Ron walking slowly towards the crumbled fireplace, lighting the way with the dim light of his wand. As he neared the chimney, there was a crack of thunder. Fear rose in George's throat and his stomach turned. Something was happening.

"Ron—" But as soon as George had called Ron's name, there was a flash of lightning and a cloud of black smoke once again. "RON!" George screamed, charging past his family through the smoke. "RON!"

"I told you that you shouldn't have broken your promise, Georgie," A silky voice purred.

"_Stupefy_!" George sent the spell straight ahead towards the head of curls that stood before him. It hit the stone chimney, which quickly crumbled to the ground. "RON! RON!" George screamed, sending spell after spell at Romera. The smoke cleared away and George was left panting, hands on his knees, staring at the spot Romera and Ron stood.

They were gone.


	26. Dying for Someone

**Hi, guys! I hope everyone is having a good week so far :) Here's chapter 26, hope you like it! I feel annoying saying this, because I do every chapter, but reviews are always great! I love hearing what you guys think. Enjoy!**

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><p>Dying for Someone<p>

"What just happened?" Ginny gasped, still choking from the smoke. Bill had rushed to the destroyed fireplace, inspecting the spot that Romera and Ron had disappeared from.

"Did you know her?" Bill asked, turning to George.

"She was one of them," George said, "One of the Death Eaters. Her and two other wizards. They're the leaders, I think."

"Do you have any idea where she could have taken him?" Fleur whispered, clutching her husband's arm. George shook his head and the room was silent for a moment, until, with a jolt of horror, George remembered something.

"There are others," He gasped, remembering his conversation with Romera in the very same house. Her voice was piercing in his mind; he could feel her long arms wrapping around his chest, suffocating him; her lips inches from his ear, his mind clouding, vision blurring…

"Others. I don't know where, but that's probably where she's taken Ron."

George watched as Ginny exchanged an uneasy glance with Hermione. Bill pulled Fleur closer to him, and Molly turned to Arthur. George's heart quickened

"What?" He asked defensively. The family remained silent for a moment before Hermione spoke.

"Are you…are you sure, George?" She asked timidly, staring at the ground. George looked at his family. Everyone seemed to be avoiding his eyes.

"I know what she said," He said firmly.

"But George, don't you think it would be better if we called the ministry in?" Hermione asked doubtfully. "They've been on this case for almost a year now, and I'm not sure that…that they would just take your word for it…"

"You don't believe me." The truth hit George like a brick. He looked carefully at each person, who stared intently at the ground, and had his answer. He looked at his father, who had just sent a message to the ministry with a look that told George it was for the best. George fell silent and rested his back against the wall. He was suddenly overcome with pain in his wrist, and inhaled sharply.

"Are you all right?" Molly asked immediately. George looked up from his mangled wrist and saw her desperate eyes; once again, just wanting to stop her son from hurting.

"My wrist is broken." George answered truthfully. His mother deserved the truth. He had been lying to everyone that year; _"I'm fine," _he said day after day, even though he was broken. And right now, his mother deserved the truth.

Instinctively, Hermione stepped forward and picked up George's hand in her own.

"Oh, George, it's shattered!" She gasped, turning his hand delicately. George just watched her examine him with such care that his eyes blurred with tears. Luckily, she didn't tear her gaze away from his bloody hand to see him. She quietly pulled out her wand and began working.

"There's nothing you can't do, is there?" George asked softly, and Hermione broke into a nervous, wavering smile.

"You'll be fine, George. It'll be okay." The room was quiet as she held George's fragile hand and silver light escaped from her wand. Moments later, she took away her wand but held onto his hand for a moment.

"It'll hurt for some time," Hermione said. "But it will get better."

George stared down at his hand, his eyes still blurry. _It'll hurt for some time…but it will get better._ After a moment, Hermione drew her hand away and put down her wand. George let his arm fall to his side, and brushed against the shard of mirror that was still in his pocket. He could almost feel Fred urging him forward, telling him to move. George took a deep breath before facing his family.

George missed the time when he wasn't afraid. Once again, his thoughts drifted to Fred; Fred's confident grin, his reassurance that he knew exactly what he was doing—even when he actually had no clue. He remembered when they were fifteen years old, sitting in their room with a new product in their laps.

"_Come on, Georgie, this will work!"_

"_Okay, fine. Who should we test it on?"_

"_Both of us."_

"_What? What if something goes horribly, horribly wrong?"_

"_Then Mum will probably hear everything go quiet, get concerned, and run up here to check on us."_

"_Fine. We'll both take it."_

"_Okay…are you sure it's safe yet?"_

"_Fred! You're the one who said it was perfect!"_

"_I don't know what I'm saying half the time, you know that!"_

"_Then I'll take it."_

He took the product away from Fred—a Fainting Fancy, he remembered. It was perfect, except for the fact that George happened to fall forward and hit his head on their dresser. After a moment, he woke up to Fred, who was fanning his face and crying from laughing. Moments later, Fred handed him another product, to which George shook his head wildly.

"_Please?"_

"_No! I can already feel my head swelling up!"_

"_Please?"_

"_Why should I?"_

"_Because I said so!"_

"_Ha! Nice try, Fred. It only works when Mum does it."_

"_Maybe I don't deserve your trust…"_

"_You don't."_

"_But that's what I'm asking for."_

"_You're mental."_

"_You are too, if you're agreeing to test this one out."_

And then George knew what he had to do. He looked at his family, standing in a broken, dusty mansion; scared and lost. George finally had the chance to assure his family that nothing would go wrong, even if he didn't believe himself. They deserved some sort of comfort.

"Look. Maybe I don't deserve your trust, but that's what I'm asking for."

That was all he needed to say. He didn't have to explain, he didn't have to beg them.

"I trust you," Fleur was the first to speak, and there was a moment of silence. George thought he saw Hermione open her mouth, but she was cut off by a loud crack and angry shouting. Hermione shrieked and almost toppled to the floor. There Harry stood, in the middle of the room, with his usual defiant and stubborn look in his eyes. George saw Ginny break into a wide smile and breathe a sigh of relief.

"I got the message," Harry said. "About Ron. Where'd they take him?"

"The ministry just let you go?" Arthur asked incredulously. "You're supposed to be staying safe! You should be…" He was silenced by a fierce glare from Harry.

"I'm finding Ron. I'm going to help. They couldn't stop me, and neither can you!"

"Can't say I didn't expect this," Hermione smiled nervously.

"No. Absolutely not." Molly suddenly found her voice. "I'm not letting you help."

"Mrs. Weasley," Harry said weakly, but Molly straightened up and grabbed Harry's arm, pulling him close to her and sticking her pointer finger in his face. George watched, almost dumbfounded. Here was Harry Potter, who was the Chosen One, who had defeated Voldemort, who had ended a war, being yelled at by Mrs. Weasley. And he looked more terrified than George had ever seen him.

"I am not letting you die, Harry Potter! I am not letting anyone here die!" She said shrilly. "I made the mistake of allowing you all to come here, and now Ron is gone!" Tears clouded her bright blue eyes. "My littlest boy is gone! And I'm not letting you go," She shook Harry's arm, and then let go. "Or you." She pointed to Percy. "Or you." Charlie. Molly's hand shook as she pointed to everyone in the room, tears streaming down her face. Once she turned to George, her voice cracked.

"Mum," George said, firmly but kindly, "I would have died for Fred."

Molly dropped her hand and bit her lip. She sank into one of the rickety kitchen chairs and hid her head in her hands. "George, please…"

"It's true. I would have." George pushed, stepping towards his mother. "Harry has come here, and he's fully prepared to die for Ron." The words were harsh, but Harry didn't flinch. "None of us want that to happen, but what would life be if none of us had someone like that? Someone we're willing to die for? It would be lonely and miserable, I'll tell you that much." George smiled slightly. "Come on, Mum. If you ask me, I think Harry is lucky to have someone in his life that he's willing to live for. And that he's willing to die for." When George looked at Harry again, he saw tears glistening in his clear green eyes. "Let him come, Mum. I can help get us out of this. Just trust me." George had never felt this sure of himself.

"He's right, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said softly. "I almost died a year ago. For you, for your sons. And daughter," Harry added quickly, and Ginny let out a watery smile. "Please, let me do this…"

George reached out a hand and rested it on Molly's shoulder. She lifted her head and looked at George with piercing blue eyes; the same ones that smiled as she waved to him and Fred on the Hogwarts Express. The same eyes that filled with rage when another explosion sounded from their room, another product gone wrong. The same eyes that shed a river of tears over Fred's body in the Great Hall.

"Okay," She finally whispered, and George smiled.

"Thanks, Mum," He said in a voice that only a mother could hear. George dropped his hand and straightened up, turning to the worried room of people. He almost laughed at Harry's expression—he would have thought that a war would have exhausted Harry for a lifetime, but Harry's eyes were just as fiery as ever; his face still defiant and strong. Stubborn. Ginny stood by his side with matching eyes and the same bold expression. George remembered when Harry and Ron stood side-by-side; they could exchange one thousand words in one look, a million jokes with one smile. George missed having someone like that.

"Okay," George said finally, collecting himself. He paused. He had never even considered what would happen next; where he would find them, what he would do when he found them…

"Okay," He repeated. His voice shook slightly, and Ginny took over.

"Where should we start?" She asked. Her words were clear and strong, but George could tell by the look in her eyes that she was scared—just as scared as anyone. Ron was her brother, after all, and she had already lost one of those. Percy looked defeated; and almost ashamed. He was the one who had seen Fred die, and to have another brother disappear on his watch…

"Where 'ave the Death Eaters been 'iding?" Fleur asked, her silky voice also wobbly.

"Mostly in abandoned houses outside of Hogsmeade," Arthur offered. "Houses that had been destroyed during the War. The ministry can't often find these houses, because of the charms put on them."

"Charms? Well, can't Hermione just…reverse them?" Ginny asked, but Arthur shook his head.

"They were put on the houses by Voldemort," He said softly. The room was quiet. George let out the shaking breath he was holding. Charlie ran a hand through his hair and looked down at the floor; Bill put an arm around Fleur and pulled her close to him.

"The war is over," Arthur said softly, "But there still is some dark magic out there. Powerful magic."

George watched as the last rays of hope in his family's eyes died out; he saw Ginny's shoulders sink, Molly rest her head in her hands again, and Arthur slump against the wall. And then he looked at Harry; Harry, who had defeated Voldemort just a year ago. Harry, who risked his life for everyone around him. Harry, who marched straight to Voldemort, prepared to die.

"Then we'll have to be careful, won't we?" George said, giving Harry a small smile. Harry's mouth twitched, and George swore that he saw a tear in his eye. It was true; George missed having his best friend around. But nothing could stop him from bringing Ron back to Harry.

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><p>"So what do we do?" Ginny asked eagerly. "I mean, if these houses are apparently invisible, how are we supposed to find them?"<p>

Harry leaned against the wall, running a hand through his messy black hair. He glanced at George, who looked at his father. Arthur just stood by Molly; George could almost hear the wheels turn in his father's head as Arthur's eyes burned a hole in the dusty floor he stood on.

"Is there anyone who could…remember if 'e said anything?" Fleur asked, flustered. "What I mean is…could the Death Eater…"

"Slate," George said softly, and Fleur nodded nervously.

"Yes. Could 'e 'ave told anyone 'is plans?" Fleur asked. With a sinking feeling, George realized that she was talking about him. She avoided his eyes, but nervously stared at the floor, wringing her hands. George could feel Bill's eyes on him, knowing exactly what Fleur was thinking.

"He didn't say anything," George said, staring Fleur straight in the eyes. "He wouldn't. I mean, he had this plan all along…why would he tell me what he was up to?"

"There's nothing? Can you remember anything?" Ginny asked, and George shook his head angrily.

"No! I have absolutely no memory of him saying…" George trailed off. The mirror. Fred. Memories.

"What?" Harry asked immediately, straightening up. "George—what?"

"Memory." George breathed, and looked at Harry. "Memory. Downstairs…downstairs there's a Mirror of Memories."

"How do you know?" Arthur asked, releasing his grip from where Molly was sitting.

"I saw it."

"How do you know it's not a fake? They're incredibly rare, George."

"I just know, okay?" George said, silently begging his father not to ask any more questions.

"But George—"

"I saw him!" George burst. His voice echoed in the empty house, straight through the broken ceiling and into the night sky, resonating through the lonely night. Arthur stopped immediately, Fleur inhaled sharply. Ginny looked away, knowing not to say any more.

"I know," George said lowly, "I know that it's real. And if Slate owned that mirror, then we could see his memories. We can find out where he's staying."

"Take us there," Ginny said immediately. Her voice was quiet; careful. "I believe you. We all do," She said, sending a look to the family. "Take us to the mirror."

George sent a guilty look to his family. Molly's eyes were bright with tears once again; Percy's jaw was tight. Hermione stood close to Harry, shaking. George nodded and turned, knowing that his family would follow without further question.

"It's broken," George said simply once they arrived downstairs, not bothering to tell them why it was broken. Everyone stayed back while George walked gingerly onto the glass, hearing quiet crunches beneath his feet. Pieces of the mirror sparkled in the moonlight. George bent down slowly and lifted up one of the larger shards to his face.

"How…how do I do it?" George asked, turning to face Hermione. "How do I see his memories? He saw mine. He showed me, that night I disappeared. So how do I see his?" Hermione looked startled at George's acknowledgement.

"I just read about this." Her voice quivered. "You have to get into his head. There's no spell, no magic that can bring it forth. It's all in the mind. You have to really, really want this. And you have to get into his head."

George nodded. He didn't know how to do it; he didn't know what to think of to get into Slate's mind. But he had a feeling that he would. He had to. He turned away from Hermione. George was saving her boyfriend. He was saving Harry's best friend. He was saving his brother. He was saving his parents from misery. He was saving his family from breaking.

When George looked into the mirror, he did not see his reflection. Instead, there was a faint outline of a house; a broken down shack, with dim lights on inside and a tilted fence in front. The picture was blurry and faded; George couldn't see where it was or who was in the house.

"_You all right, Freddie?"_

The picture became clearer. The lights brightened slightly. The house was in the middle of an empty street. It was cold. George couldn't feel it, but he somehow knew. Dementors were there, making it cold and miserable.

"_Yeah."_

George could see now that it was a cobblestone street, lined with weeds growing in the cracks. Figures moved in the house; there was a shadow of a girl with long, curly hair…a man's scar glistened as it caught the light…and then Ron's yells filled the house, the street, the mirror that George was clutching in his bloody hand.

"_Me too."_

George dropped the mirror and Ron's screaming stopped. His hand was now shaking as he backed away from the glass. He stumbled backwards, and Hermione put two shaking hands on his arm; Ginny grasped his hand.

"I know where he is," George said breathlessly. Wordlessly, he pulled Ginny up the stairs and heard the clatter of his family following. He ignored their questions, their shouts of delight or confusion, and their tugs of George's sleeves. He wasn't stopping now. He led his family outside the house, all the way to the iron gates at the edge of the pathway.

"George, stop!" Hermione finally shrieked. "Where is this? Where are we going?"

"Trust me," George panted, letting go of Ginny's hand and facing Hermione. "Trust me," He repeated, glancing up at his entire family. "Just take my hand, and I'll bring you to him. We'll get him back, okay?"

Seconds later, the family had piled their hands together. Only Molly remained.

"Mum," George said quietly. Molly's eyes glistened with tears.

"You saw him?" She asked, almost inaudibly. George nodded silently.

"Oh."

"Mum," George said, as his mother slowly reached out to place her hand on his, "He says that it's going to be okay."

A single sob escaped Molly Weasley, and then they were gone.


	27. For a Reason

**Here's chapter 27! It's coming to a close soon, I hate to admit, but I hope you all enjoy this chapter:) It's longer than my other ones, so hopefully that's a good thing! Enjoy, and, as always, tell me what you think! Thanks!**

* * *

><p>For a Reason<p>

As soon as the Weasleys arrived, Hermione caught her foot in a crack in the winding cobblestone street and nearly fell over. She tugged on the neck of Harry's shirt; Harry gagged and fell into Percy, who let out a shout and instinctively knocked Harry away. If they were somewhere else, if they weren't looking for Ron, then George would have laughed. Fleur blinked and rubbed her eyes, adjusting to the sudden darkness. It was no longer raining. George stood where he was, breathing heavily, determined to find the house that he had seen in the mirror. In his pocket, he still felt the piece of mirror that held Fred's grinning face. It gave him strength; it was everything that pushed him forward; that kept him walking even when his legs were screaming; even when blood ran down from his face, his arm, his chest, to the ground.

"Do you see it?" Harry asked immediately, catching up to George and adjusting his shirt. "George, what did it look like? Where is it?"

George didn't say anything. As far as they were concerned, the house was still coated with protective charms, making it invisible to anyone besides the Death Eaters. Ginny, reading his mind, shot Harry a look.

"I don't think any of us can see it, Harry," said Ginny. "Hermione? Any spells to reverse it?"

"I—I don't know," Hermione's voice was weak. "None as powerful as Voldemort could have produced…and they probably know that we're onto them…" Tears glistened in her large brown eyes. George knew that she was thinking about Ron; thinking about all of the horrible things that he could be enduring. Imagining the torture, the screams echoing in the empty house, the blood trailing to the grimy floor…

Suddenly, George spotted a patch of dirt amongst the grass, just off of the street. He walked toward it slowly and felt Hermione at his side, wand out and lighting the way. As he looked further, he could see more of these same patches; some parts of the ground were even smoking, scraps of fire still blazing. There had been fighting. Blood had been shed. George felt his stomach plummet. Hermione must have known it too, because she abruptly brought her hand to her mouth and whimpered quietly. Wordlessly, George turned to face his family, touching Hermione's shoulder.

"It's up here," He pointed up the hill, away from the street. His voice was hoarse. Arthur glanced at his family, and then back at George. He looked concerned. Afraid. Wondering if he had made the right choice, feeling responsible for his family being there. George wondered if he felt responsible for Ron. It was hard to tell sometimes what people were feeling.

"Are you sure?" He asked cautiously. "If we call in the ministry…"

"They won't know what to do. It's always been us, Dad," George half-smiled, throwing a glance at Harry and Hermione. "We can do this. Trust me." Perhaps it was George's sudden confidence; perhaps it was the fact that George was smiling again. Whatever it was, Arthur's shoulders dropped and he sighed, nodding at his son.

"Take us there."

It was a long walk. George trudged up the hill, scanning the patches of dirt, fire, and blood. He felt Harry right behind him, his wand at the ready. Every so often, Harry would step on the back of George's shoes in anticipation. Percy followed closely. Every so often Percy would glance at George with an expression of guilt and hopelessness, but George didn't mind. They would find Ron. Something would change.

Hermione and Ginny stuck close to one another; Hermione worried for her best friend of eight years, and Ginny worried for both her brother and Harry. She watched Harry closely and could sometimes catch him letting out a shaky breath or wiping his cheeks, which were no longer wet from the rain. Fleur and Bill talked quietly; Bill offering words of comfort, and Fleur offering delicate, hopeful smiles and a smooth touch. Charlie walked with his parents, softly comforting his mother, who marched forward with a stone-like face.

For the first time in a year, the family did not fight. There was no tension or anger. There were no tears or angry shouts. George was not a prisoner in his room, sitting just to the side of a covered mirror hanging above Fred's bed. He looked back every so often at his family and clutched the piece of glass in his pocket; he could almost feel Fred's happiness radiating through him. That smile. That laugh.

George looked down at the long, jagged cuts on his arm that spelled his twin's name. Slate. Slate, who had gotten into his mind. Slate, who had led him to this world. Slate, who had a plan all along. Little did Slate know that he had allowed George into his world. George could feel it now; the magic in the mirror and in the cuts, the magic that allowed George to peer into Slate's world. It all happened for a reason. Maybe he couldn't save Fred, but he could save his family. And right now, that was all George wanted.

When George reached the top of the hill, he stopped abruptly. Ginny and Hermione stumbled into him, following so closely, and then Harry, who tripped over Hermione.

"It's here," George said confidently.

"George, there's no house here," Hermione panted, leaning over and resting her hands on her knees.

"It is," George said firmly. "It's here. We just need to figure out how to get through the charms…we need to figure out how to get it to show itself…"

"Any ideas?" Harry said lowly to Hermione, but Hermione shook her head. George turned to face his family, who watched him closely. After a moment of silence, Percy stepped up.

"If you need anyone to…to test out a spell…I'll do it," He said shakily, meeting George's eyes. And George suddenly knew why Percy fought George the past year. He knew why Percy got angry so easily; why Percy yelled at George, and then avoided him for a week. George looked at Percy, who had fear in his narrow eyes.

"It's not your fault he died, Perce," George said. "You couldn't have done anything."

Percy opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He closed his mouth and nodded curtly. He stepped back into Molly's arms. His mother pulled him in tightly, her knuckles turning white as she gripped Percy's shoulders. George glanced at his father, who nodded at him.

George gripped the tiny mirror and slowly withdrew it from his pocket. As he raised it to his face, he could swear that he saw a flash of a smile. He closed his eyes and brought the mirror close to him.

"Show me where he is," George whispered. "Show me why he gave me these scars. Show me how to save Ron."

He didn't know if his family was listening. He couldn't feel anything anymore; not the fog rolling across the grass or the clouds of smoke rising into the night sky. He couldn't hear his family breathing; not Ginny panting or Harry constantly twirling his wand in his hand. All he knew was the mirror; the house with the broken fence and flickering lights. The scars on his arm, which tingled as he clutched the glass. George raised his wand with a steady hand and whispered once more, _Show me._

When he heard Hermione gasp, George opened his eyes. In front of them stood the same house that George had seen in the mirror; the tilted fence, the little shack, and the dim lights inside. A scream. Ron's scream.

And then George was running. He waved his wand and the fence burst into thousands of pieces. With every step, he got angrier.

One step.

_I hate you._

Two steps.

_I'm saving my brother._

Three steps.

_You're not going to hurt us anymore._

Four steps.

_I don't hurt anymore; Fred is with me now._

Five steps.

_Your plan backfired; these scars don't hurt._

Six steps.

_These scars are nothing but a reminder of my best friend._

George. Harry. Ginny and Hermione. Charlie. Percy. Bill and Fleur. Arthur and Molly. George wasn't alone as he ran through the dead yard. Nine lights from wands bobbed up and down behind him. Nine other pairs of feet slammed into the ground in one rhythm. George waved his wand and the shabby door flew open.

"Come out and fight! Come out and take it back!" George heard himself shouting as he burst into the house, barely understanding what he was saying. Light exploded from his wand, ricocheting off of the walls. No more than five seconds into the house, and George heard Ginny scream. He whipped around to see Dex slinging an arm around her, pulling Ginny into him. He raised a wand to her throat and sneered at George.

Another scream. This time, it was Hermione. Romera's knuckles turned white as she gripped Hermione's arms and pulled Hermione in towards her. George immediately raised his wand and aimed at Romera, when a voice stopped him.

"George, watch out!" Ron roared from the other side of the room; but as George turned, he was struck by a red light. He roared in pain.

"Protego!" George screamed, raising his wand. Slate was propelled into the wall and sank down to the floor. George scrambled to his feet and rushed to Ron.

"Ron," He gasped. "Ron, you're okay," He panted, hands flying towards his brother. "What…" His chest tightened, his breath caught in his throat. Ron was wrapped in the large stone chimney—the grey wall was twisted around him, and Ron was cemented in tightly. "Ron, how do I…" George's fingers fumbled around the stone, wildly searching for a way out.

"George!" He heard Fleur shriek, and sparks flew past him; moments later, Romera had slumped to the ground. George turned to see Fleur, but she was already locked in combat with Dex, who had dropped Ginny when Bill sent a stunning spell just inches from his head. Suddenly, George remembered what Romera had said to him. _Others._ George turned back to Ron desperately.

"Ron, are there others here?" George begged. Ron shook his head wildly.

"I—I don't know, there's a hallway down there, he took me through it when we got here—there could be others—"

"I'll be right back," George said instantly, and turned on his heel. He heard Ron yelling behind him, and was suddenly met by Charlie.

"George!" Charlie roared, "Where are you going?"

"I'll be back, okay? Just stall them!"

George didn't have time for explanation. He raced around a corner and, at the end of the hallway, noticed a door. George paused for just a fraction of a second, gripping his wand tightly. Without thinking, he raised his wand.

"_Reducto!" _George screamed, and the door was reduced to dust. Lighting his wand, George hurried towards the door and down the steps, leading to a dark, damp basement. Breathing heavily, George turned in place, holding his wand high above his head. Others. Of course there were others. The Death Eaters had been trying to get to Harry for so long…there were bound to be others like George. Others weak and vulnerable, other students who may have had connections to Harry at school. There had to be others. And then he saw them.

In the corner of the basement sat a group of witches and wizards, huddled against the cold stone wall. A little girl looked up at George; she was holding her mother's hand tightly, eyes wide with fear. George's heart plummeted. The girl shut her eyes and turned to her mother, who put an arm around her and drew her close, eyeing George suspiciously.

"What's happening?" George said hoarsely, looking at the scared knot of wizards. He took a step towards them, and heard the little girl yell into her mother's shoulder. Her mother gripped her even tighter.

"I'm not going to hurt you," George said, realizing what they thought of him. "I'm not like them. I'm here to get you out."

"How do we know you're not lying?" A man about George's age asked, his voice trembling. George shook his head.

"Listen, they tried to get me too! But I'm here, I'm here to get you out, please believe me," George begged. The man fell silent. George surveyed the group.

"Why are you all here?" There was a pause before anyone answered.

"They wanted someone close to Harry Potter," Another boy spoke—George realized, his eyes adjusting to the dark light, that it was Dennis Creevey. George stepped closer, raising his wand towards Dennis.

"Dennis?"

"Hi, George," Dennis smiled slightly. The witch clutching her daughter suddenly spoke; her voice was angry and defiant. "They've been taking everyone with any ties to him at all and keeping us here."

"We don't know where he is!" A teenage girl with short hair and freckles squeaked from the back of the group. "I went to school with him, so they took me. Dennis, too. But I've never even talked to him before; I don't know what to tell them! They don't believe me!"

George felt sick to his stomach. The girl with freckles had cuts down her face and bruised eyes. The witches surrounding her had bloodshot eyes and bruises lining their arms. The little girl, the innocent little girl with blonde hair and blue eyes, was trembling violently.

"Believe me," George said. "Believe me when I tell you I'm here to help. I'm not like them. I'm like you guys." And, knowing that he had to do it, George lifted his sleeve and showed them the scars on his arm.

"See? He got me, too. I want to get rid of him just as much as you do."

There was a silence that seemed to stretch for hours. All that could be heard was the battle raging on upstairs; George wondered fleetingly if Ron was still okay; if any of his family had been hurt. If they were still stalling the Death Eaters. Suddenly, the little girl in front stood up and walked to George until she stood just an arm's length away.

"Do they hurt?" She asked, looking at George's arm. George knelt, looking her in the eyes.

"Not anymore."

She nodded and turned to face her mother, who was now crying. "Can we go now?" The girl asked, and the group shifted slightly. One by one, the wizards stood up. George broken into a grin as the last one stood.

"When you get up there, you have to run. Outside the house, as far as you can. We'll be there soon."

"We?" The same girl with freckles asked.

"There are others helping us. We're not alone," George said, surprising himself. The entire year, he had never quite believed that. The entire year, he felt alone, sitting in his room staring at the covered mirror. He felt alone when he ate at the kitchen table, watching life as if it were a dream. A nightmare. George had never even considered that there were others—supporting him, helping him. But he wasn't alone. He never was.

"I'll hold them off while you run. It's going to be okay."

And without any more words, George turned on his heel and ran. Up the stairs, down the hallway, and into the house where spells flew and shouts bounced off the walls. George was met with Ron, still enclosed in the cement chimney.

"What the bloody hell?" Ron roared as the group of witches and wizards raced past George—George shouted spell after spell to knock the Death Eaters out of the way. Slate, across the room, looked at George with blazing red eyes. George met Slate's eyes with a blazing look of his own. Slate raised a wand sharply at the dark-haired girl with freckles.

"NO!" George screamed, and sent a spell over the girl's head. It hit Slate, and a deep gash appeared on his cheek. Slate roared and clutched his face, blood spilling onto his fingers. The girl glanced at George, flashed him a thankful, yet terrified, smile and ran out the door. George's hand shook as he turned back to Ron, who was looking at him with a wild look in his eyes.

"Who were they?" He shouted over the noise.

"I'll explain later. Ron, how do I do this? How am I supposed to get you out?" George cried.

"The only way to get rid of it is to destroy it," Ron said, looking around at the cursed wall.

"Ron, that could kill you!"

"Expelliarmus!" Percy had roared over George's shoulder; George ducked as a streak of red light flew over his head and Romera's wand flew away from her. As George watched Romera stumble for her wand, Hermione rushed to George's side.

"We need to get out of here, George," She panted, gripping George's sleeve. "We can't hold them off any longer."

"It's Ron," George said. "We need to blow it up. All of it."

Hermione's eyes widened. She looked at Ron, locked in the wall. She thought for a moment and pushed her hair away from her eyes. With a wild look, she turned back to George.

"That's what we'll do then."

"Hermione—"

"I'll protect Ron, and you destroy it."

George stared at Hermione for a moment; she never seemed to be wrong, in all the years that he had known her. It seemed natural that he should listen to her, even if the idea seemed mad.

"Get everyone out," He said simply. Immediately Hermione turned on her heel and started yelling; George turned to Ron.

"Thank you, Ron," George said, rushed.

"Thank—for what?" Ron asked wildly.

"For understanding me. For not asking any questions, even though you probably should have. Just make me a promise, okay?"

"George!" Ron cried, wincing as more streaks of light danced overhead.

"Just listen!" George roared over the noise. "If we get out of this, you talk to Harry again. You go back to Hogwarts."

"George, what are you—"

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT IT'S LIKE TO LOSE A TWIN," George roared. "I DON'T WANT YOU TO HAVE TO FIND OUT WHAT IT IS TO LOSE A BEST FRIEND! You talk to Harry, you fix things! I swear, Ron, if you don't, then _I'll _bloody kill you! You don't want it to end this way!"

Ron fell silent and nodded at George; George could have sworn that he'd seen tears swimming in Ron's blue eyes.

"Okay," Hermione said breathlessly, appearing at George's side. "Are you ready?"

"What about me?" Ron asked. "Aren't you going to ask me if I'm ready to be blown up?"

"It's going to be fine, Ronald," Hermione smiled nervously and raised her wand. She looked at George and nodded.

"Protego!"

"Reducto!"

And two things happened. First, Ron was enclosed in a transparent force field; he was suddenly blurry, his shouts muffled. Hermione's face was turning red, her arm struggling with the power of her spell. And then the wall burst; stones flew and the house shook. George cast a protective spell around him and Hermione, slinging an arm around her shoulders and pulling her to the ground. For what seemed like hours, they listened to the sound of rocks falling. Finally, George opened his eyes and gasped. Hermione lay on the ground, stirring feebly.

"Hermione! Are you okay?" George cried, shaking her; she let out a cry of pain. George immediately scooped her up and stood to find Ron. Luckily, Ron stood just feet away from George, coughing from the dust.

"Ron, let's go!" George screamed. Making sure Ron was by his side and Hermione was secure in his arms, George started to run. Behind them, the house continued to fall. And as soon as they stepped outside, George felt it.

Everything was cold. He could see his breath in the night air; the hair on his arms that tightly held Hermione rose. George felt his heart turn to ice. The color drained from his face; he felt Ron wilt beside him.

Dementors. Everywhere. They descended upon the battle, blending into the dark sky; mouths open, spindly fingers reaching to their hoods. George looked at his family. Arthur and Molly stood clutching each other, and George immediately knew that it was hopeless—Molly especially had no chance of finding a memory happy enough to rid the Dementors. The only memories she had were of crying, slamming doors, and scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing those dishes. Maybe one day she could think past that, but not now. Harry already stood with his silver stag, fending off as many as he could—Bill and Fleur stood back to back, silver shields erupting from their wands. Percy stood ahead of the family with his own wand raised, but he too could barely find any glistening light at all. George glanced at Ron beside him. Ron was shaking violently; George noticed that he was bruised and bloody. George looked back out at his family and felt his grip on Hermione loosen.

"Take Hermione," George said hoarsely to Ron. Without hesitation, Ron gathered Hermione in his arms.

"What are you going to do?" Ron asked as George took out his wand. George just shook his head.

"Leave it to me," He said, and felt himself smile.

_Raise some hell for us, Georgie._

George slipped the mirror out of his pocket and glanced at it—Fred's grin flashed once more, and the mirror seemed to sparkle. George stared for a moment, breathing deeply.

"This one's for you, Freddie," He whispered, and faced the Dementors. Raising his wand, George shut his eyes.

This was it. Happiness. What he had been missing for the past year—what had left him when he saw Fred's body. The feeling that had vanished the moment he dropped to his knees in the  
>Great Hall, surrounded by other students, being pulled back by his family, realizing that he would never hear Fred's voice again.<p>

None of that mattered right now, because George needed happiness. He looked at Ron, who knelt on the ground with Hermione in his lap. Ron didn't know whether to focus on the Dementors or Hermione, and looked wildly between the two. George caught his eyes darting to Harry with that familiar look of terror and hope. Percy was crying—George swore to himself that if they got out of this alive, he would try to make things better between the two of them. Charlie stood nearby, and George was reminded of his stories from Romania. He wanted to hear those stories again. And then Ginny, who was so tough. So brave. So funny. George felt himself smile at his little sister, who was producing her own patronus, and daring the Dementors to come near her.

Finally, George's eyes reached his parents. Molly stood close to Arthur, who was sending a silver light towards any Dementor that came near him or Molly. George watched his mother, who was trying so hard to produce her own patronus, but nothing came. George made one last promise to himself before turning forward and raising his wand: to give his mother one happy memory that could make her a patronus.

George walked slowly to the head of the group, light gathering at the tip of his wand. The scars on his arm were tingling; the mirror in his pocket was shining. George raised his wand at the Dementors, coming closer and closer to the family. Cold descended on the Weasleys, but George could barely feel it. He was surrounded by a glowing light, a shining smile that propelled him forward. He took a deep breath.

"_Expecto Patronum!"_

And then light burst forward. George hadn't even thought of what his memory would be; he expected it to be a life-defining moment. Perhaps when he opened the shop, or arrived at Hogwarts for the first time. Maybe even his first Quidditch match with Fred. But it wasn't any of those things. What George saw as he cast the spell was him and Fred, sitting in their room, talking. Just talking. They sat on their beds and tossed a light back and forth between their wands. Fred was resting his head against the wall, and George had his feet propped up on the desk. Talking. It wasn't life-defining; there weren't any tears of happiness or laughs that echoed through the house. It was just Fred and George. Making jokes. Laughing. Talking.

"_Expecto Patronum!" _George shouted again, and realized that tears streamed down his face. He felt eyes watching him. He wasn't going to let anyone down, not this time. He could barely even see the silver light erupting from his wand; his eyes were clouded and he felt faint. But he soon saw the Dementors start to shrink away; they drew their slender, cold hands into them and pulled their hoods up. George's arm shook as he held his wand as tightly as he could, propelling the Dementors away.

"GEORGE!" George heard Ron scream, and pointed his wand to where Ron was staring. Somehow, Harry had fallen—a Dementor hovered above him, an eerie light between the two.

"_Expecto Patronum!" _The Dementor immediately shrank, and Harry inhaled sharply. George heard a cry of delight from Ron; a dramatic sigh of relief. Before George turned away, he could have sworn that he'd seen Harry turn his head slightly to look at Ron.

"GEORGE!" Another scream. This time, it was Ginny. She knelt over Percy, who lay weak on the ground. George immediately turned again, sweeping his wand towards the Dementor descending on Percy. One by one, the Dementors started to shrink in the night. George stayed in his spot, turning madly. Remembering. Crying. He had never felt anything like this before; so happy, so happy that his heart felt as though it was being ripped apart. Was he happy? Was this happiness? George didn't have time to think, as he stood in the center of the matted field, with his wand high above his head.

And soon, there were no more hooded figures in the night sky—only the blinding white light coming from George's wand. After a moment, George lowered his wand and the light faded.

Happiness.

It would take some time to get to, but George knew that it was out there.

Breathing heavily, George looked in the distance—three figures lay on the ground, each with a small ball of gold light hovering just above their mouths. Slate. Romera. Dex. They lay motionless, with blank eyes and grey skin. George turned back to his family shakily.

"Is that them?" Ginny asked quietly after a long pause, staring at the three Death Eaters. George nodded. Ginny smiled slightly.

"Seems sort of anti-climactic, doesn't it?" She asked, laughing nervously.

"The battle was never really between them," George said, staring at the figures. He turned to his mother, whose eyes were cloudy with tears, and pulled her in tightly. Molly clung to George for a long while until finally releasing him. She was smiling.

"I'm back," George smiled, and his voice cracked. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Hermione was standing, leaning on Bill's shoulder. Fleur held her husband's arm, beaming at George, tears streaming down her face. Charlie supported an exhausted and weak Percy, while Arthur pulled Molly close. A noise behind George made him turn suddenly, and was met with Kingsley and members of the ministry. Behind them stood the group that George had let out of the basement. George caught the little girl's eye and smiled at her. The teenager with freckles stood at the front of the group, also beaming at George. George nodded at the sight of them, safe in the arms of the ministry, turned back to his family, and collapsed to his knees.

The last thing George saw before he passed out was Harry and Ron; both talking softly. Ron was smiling softly at something Harry had said. The boys were talking. Just talking. Fred's face flashed in George's mind once more.

And then darkness.


	28. One Day

One Day

George woke up and, once again, didn't know where he was. His eyes took a moment to adjust—it was light outside, and sunlight was streaming onto his face. George tried to raise his head, but he felt heavy and weak. He turned to the side and saw a bed. A mirror, hanging just above it, with a sheet thrown over it. He was in his room, back at the Burrow. Downstairs, he could hear faint sounds of his family; Ron and Harry's laugh, Molly and Hermione talking excitedly. George took a moment to summon enough strength to pull himself up from his bed, and swung his legs over the side. He brought a hand up to smooth his hair and sat for a minute in silence.

"Perce, stop," George heard Ginny laugh from downstairs. George rubbed his eyes and stood up; his legs were shaking and his arms felt weak. But George pushed through the pain; it was over now. He slowly walked downstairs, the chatter of his family growing louder and louder. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, the talking ceased. Percy and Ginny looked up from their conversation. Harry and Ron glanced up from the living room, where they were sitting. Hermione, of course, was beaming, with tears in her eyes when she saw George.

"Hi," George said, and he saw Ron break into a grin. "You all right, Ron?" He asked, and Ron joined the Weasleys in the kitchen. His bruises didn't seem as bad today, his cuts cleared up. Ron glanced at Harry and smiled.

"Yeah, I'm all right." George paused a moment, twisting his hands. The knot in his stomach tightened.

"Harry," George started, facing Harry, but Harry just waved.

"It's okay."

The two nodded at each other with a knowing look before George turned to Hermione.

"Oh, I'm fine," Hermione beamed. She had a faint cut on her glowing left cheek, just beneath her eye, but her smile was too bright to even notice it. George noticed that she was bent over a book; Hermione saw him looking and brightened. "It's for school. Did you know? We're going back in just a month. All three of us," Hermione said, throwing a look at Harry and Ron. George smiled.

"I knew it," He said, and Ron laughed.

"I guess we all did."

"And you two should really start studying, it's closer than you think!" Hermione said as she faced her book. Harry and Ron slumped down in their chairs.

"Here's our chance to back out," Ron said to Harry under his breath, who laughed. George's throat was tight as he watched the two friends, but he laughed all the same.

"Angelina came around," Ginny said suddenly from her spot at the table. "She was worried. So was Lee. They just wanted to see how you were doing."

"What did you tell them?"

"That you were splendid, of course," Ginny smiled. "Why wouldn't you be?" She watched George for his reaction, and George nodded at his sister thoughtfully.

"I miss them," He said after a moment. "I'll want to see them again. It's about time." There was another long silence, until Ginny finally spoke.

"You're so brave, George," She said softly; she wasn't afraid or sad anymore. She was just speaking the truth as she looked at George with her blazing eyes, admiring her older brother. George bit his lip and looked down at his feet.

"I was the one who got us into this mess, after all," George laughed nervously, tracing his now familiar scars, but Ginny shook her head.

"You've always been brave. I'm sure…" Ginny glanced at her family before finishing. "I'm sure wherever he is right now, he's proud of you."

"He is," George said instinctively, and laughed to himself. "I know he is."

There was nothing else to say. Ginny smiled at George, wiping her eyes. She wasn't too hurt—a few scrapes and bruises, but other than that, she absolutely glowed. George tried not to smile at Hermione, who was on the verge of bursting into relieved tears. Her hair was frizzy and piled high on top of her head. Fleur sat beside her, placing a delicate hand on Hermione's arm.

"It's going to be fine," George said to his family. He smiled through the tears gathering in his eyes. He thought of Fred; who, after every prank gone wrong, every product that didn't work, reassured George. It was George's turn now. He looked at his parents. Molly was smiling—genuinely smiling—for the first time in a year. Percy looked at George with desperation in his eyes, and suddenly, George found himself speaking.

"We can talk later, Percy," He said. "I feel like it's been a while. How about a drink at the Three Broomsticks?" Percy nodded and breathed a sigh of relief—not too long ago, George was standing at that same table, screaming at Percy. George suddenly felt overcome with exhaustion. He closed his eyes for a moment.

"I'm going to go back upstairs," George said tiredly, and turned to the staircase. Without turning around, George spoke softly.

"I'm home, guys," He whispered, and headed upstairs. As he shut his door, he once again heard his family, talking, laughing, crying. They were happy. They were broken, but getting better. There would always be cracks, but that didn't mean that they couldn't be happy again. George looked at the shard of mirror on his bedside table and felt tears spring to his eyes. He wasn't afraid to cry anymore.

Some of George still felt lost—he imagined that would never change. He didn't know it just yet, but he still would dream about his brother, and about the battle. The shop would be difficult to look at for the first few months. He would wait for someone to finish his sentences for a while before realizing that Fred couldn't. He didn't know this just yet, but George would never produce another patronus as brilliant as the one he had just outside of the mansion. He would still cry. But that was okay.

It was okay because one day, George knew that things were going to be better. As he stood in his room, shoulders shaking and hands over his face, listening to his family downstairs, George knew that things were going to get better.

One day, George would be laughing with his family. Ginny would be doubled over laughing, Ron and Harry would be clapping each other on the back. Even Percy would smile. George would make people laugh again.

One day, George would be back in the shop, selling that little girl that he rescued from the basement her first joke product. He would smile, knowing that she is looking at a long, happy life, away from the dark prison she once stayed in. He would have someone who admired him; a young girl with curly blonde hair and a wide grin.

One day, George would be standing at the altar. His heart would be slightly filled with the words "I do," even if the spot for a best man was empty.

One day, George would cradle a baby boy in his arms. The baby would rest on his arm, on top of the scars, and the scars wouldn't hurt anymore. George would look at himself and the little boy in the mirror above the crib, no longer afraid of his reflection.

One day, George would lower his head to his son's and whisper one word. One word that came to mind every day for his entire life.

_Fred._

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><p><strong>Author's Note: And that's the end! I hope you all enjoyed the story, and I can't thank you enough for reading it! This was my first story that I ever published, and I hope that it was worth it. Thank you so, so much for your reviews, and I hope to write more, if you guys think that I should! I know this is the third time I've said it, but thank you :)<em><br>_**


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